November Chill
by WhyAye
Summary: A man is beaten to death, but Lewis & Hathaway can't find a suspect.  Innocent becomes angry when their suspicions turn to a fellow police officer.
1. Prologue

A sullen, smudgy gloom begins to settle over the flat, cleared area of patchy grass and stones as night draws near. Broken swings hang one-sidedly from a rust-and-chipped-paint pipe frame. A park bench with a back but no seat stands empty, as one might expect; its remaining parts are covered in bright, geometric and curlicued obscenities and gang signs.

A small girl squats in the dust, tightly gripping a fat piece of colored chalk, concentrating on the words she is scrawling on the pavement. She has tousled brown curls, bright green eyes, and a doll's puckered lips. They are pursed now, drawn together in a slight frown as she copies the words and symbols she sees sprayed on the walls of the council estate that surrounds her.

She is not more than six, though she commands a vocabulary—and a cynical understanding of life—far exceeding those few years. She looks up as a silver diesel Jetta rackets to an idle alongside the broken kerb. The driver's window lowers, and she runs to the car with her coat flapping, still clutching her chalk.

"Daddy! You got a new car!"

The person inside speaks to her, but low—a nosy neighbor or a passerby would not be able to hear. The girl frowns a little, drawing out the dimples in her cherubic cheeks.

"Mummy says you're not to see me. Mummy will be very angry you came here."

A man's hand protrudes from the window, a large lollipop in its grip. The girl takes it with an impish grin.

"Mummy says I'm to tell you to fuck off if I see you. She says no more fucking visits until you start paying again." She takes several steps away from the car and grins.

"So fuck off, Daddy! I hope you come around again soon!" She runs off as inarticulate shouts from the car follow her pounding heels.

* * *

A few blocks away, a woman in worn, four-inch heels strolls slowly along the pavement, picking her way to avoid broken glass, chunks of concrete, and the occasional puddle of piss or vomit. She should be cold, but she's used to it by now; cheap liquor will warm her later. She's twenty-two, but only by a few weeks. She's been working this patch for over seven years. It's tiresome, the money's bad, and the johns are often freaky or dangerous, but what else can she do? Saddled with an infant at fifteen, never very interested in school, she is on her own with no legal means of earning anything close to what might be called a living. And now that That Bastard, as she thinks of him, is cutting off her child support, she feels as though she's slowly bleeding to death. Or starving, more accurately.

A silver car slows as she struts along the pavement, her skirt nearly covering her buttocks, her top barely covering her nipples. The driver's window lowers and she steps closer, leaning over so the driver can examine the goods before he makes a purchase.

"Hi, there, can I help yeh with anythin'?" She peers into the car, then reels back. "Oh, shit, it's you."

A man's harsh laugh emanates from the interior.

The woman sneers in disgust. "Yeh get a new car, then? If I'd known it was you, I'd've turned the other way, yeh cheap bastard. How is it you can afford a new car but yeh can't afford to send me payments?"

The answer is terse, bitter. "The Merc was repo'd."

She is unsympathetic. "Yeh managed to scrape together enough for this shitbucket. But yeh can't manage a few quid fer yer own son. It's a long time before he's earnin' his own keep, yeh know."

Apologetic sounds are not enough to placate her. "Look, you bastard. Yeh said yeh'd take care a' me, an' yeh'd take care a' _him_. But here I am workin' my tits off an' barely makin' enough t' eat. I should sell 'im, I should. Lose the expense an' make enough profit t' get out of this shithole, too."

She ignores the pleading tones that try to persuade. "Nah, I'm thinkin' about it, seriously. I know someone what's interested. If yeh want 'im, yeh better let me know what yer bid is." She turns sharply and struts away, between the broken bollards and into the concrete court where the car cannot follow her and where the driver's pleas are drowned in the cacophony of shouting couples, blaring televisions, and crying infants. She knows he won't dare get out of the car and follow her on foot. The Jetta would be gone before he could turn around to check on it. She mentioned selling the child merely to get under his skin. But as she thinks on the idea, it takes shape as the only reasonable option left to her in this hopeless, optionless place.

* * *

"Is that it, then, for another whole year?" Detective Sergeant James Hathaway tries to keep his demeanor flat so it does not betray the sinking disappointment he feels. _All that write up, all that blather, for what, exactly? A pat on the head?_

His senior officer studies him, knows he's holding back. "That's all I can do, Sergeant. Look, it's not my idea to lump a standout performance like yours along with the mediocre performances that some of the other blokes manage all together under 'Meets or exceeds expectations.' I put what I could in the comments, but it's . . . y'know. Hard to put into words what makes your work so much better than everyone else's."

Detective Inspector Robert Lewis knows what's angering Hathaway. The young man is a genius, brilliant at solving crimes, capable of doing far more than simply plodding through the routine steps of an investigation. Lewis wishes he could say something that mattered.

"Look, James, there's nothing I can do until something opens up and they ask my opinion about promoting you. And anyway, you've been a sergeant, what, five years? That's not very long, compared to most blokes, you know."

Hathaway looks up sharply. He is _not_ "most blokes," as Lewis is well aware. He looks away to hide his festering resentment. _He chooses to do nothing because he wants me to be his sergeant forever._

"Whatever." The word is muttered, spat out.

Lewis bites back the response he wants to make. _Bloody hell, the man can't begin to know the meaning of frustrated ambitions._ Not likely a little humiliation would hurt the Boy Wonder. It never hurt Lewis, all the humiliation he endured from Morse over the years. Taught him how to ignore other people's class prejudices and pay attention to what mattered. _Hathaway could use a little of that sort of education, the posh prat_. But Lewis knows Hathaway is not deserving of such churlish thoughts, and he's left with an uncomfortable feeling that he, not his sergeant, is the one acting childishly.


	2. Bodily Fluids

It is late Saturday night, nearly Sunday. The flashing blue lights reflect on the worn bricks like echoes of a dying man's last words. They convey not a sense of urgency but a sense of despair.

"Do we have an ID?" Lewis approaches the pathologist as she is finishing her preliminary investigation.

Doctor Laura Hobson looks up sharply, not having heard Lewis approach. "Nothing on the body. The full examination may give us something to go on."

The inspector scans the battered and bloody corpse. "Any clue what he may have looked like, even? It _is_ 'he,' isn't it?"

"Yes, definitely 'he.' I can't tell much more than you can see for yourself: white male, dark hair, no beard but I can't tell about a moustache, probably around thirty years old."

Lewis scowls. Her description adds nothing to what he already knows. Not much more to see. The man's face has been pretty well destroyed and what's left is covered in blood. The rest of the body is fairly intact: ordinary khaki trousers, Chelsea jersey. _Tosser._ Denim jacket. Wedding ring. _We'll have to tell his wife, as soon as we can identify him_.

"What can you tell us about the assault?"

She looks past him. "I'll wait til James gets here. No point in repeating myself." She studies Lewis shrewdly. "You boys getting along these days?"

Lewis's eyes flick away. "We're fine. Performance reviews were this week. Always a bit touchy, y'know?"

Hobson recognizes the problem. Lewis and Hathaway work much better as a team of near-equals. When they are forced to act as superior and junior officers, things get awkward and uncomfortable for both men.

Hathaway comes over, watching his footing in the dark and filthy alleyway. He nearly steps on a mass of matted hair—_a decaying dog?_—and a fetid stench clogs his throat. He puts his fingers to his nose to block the smell a little, and draws up next to Lewis. He glances down at the body for the first time, and reflexively inhales at the gore. His nose is again assaulted, this time with the sharp, metallic tang of blood, tinged with a reek of urine. This combines with the visual of mashed flesh and bone, teeth scattered on the blood-drenched cobblestones, eyeless, staring sockets in the damaged skull. Hathaway retches violently, his puke barely missing both his and Lewis's shoes. Lewis catches him by the shoulders, saving him from toppling over into the mess.

"Steady on, James." Lewis helps him back upright, peering concernedly into his face. "You alright?"

Gasping a little, Hathaway wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Sorry, I . . ." He closes his eyes and shudders involuntarily, takes a deep breath through his finger-filtered nose, and straightens up. "Sorry."

Hobson waits until she's certain he's ready for her report. "As you can see, he was battered in what would have been a frenzied attack. The weapon was long, tubular, and hard; these marks on the arms—" she rolls the body and pulls down the jacket sleeve so they can see "—give you an idea of the size of it." She glances up at the senior officer's sudden, sharp intake of breath. "Lewis?"

He waves her off, and she continues. "Death would have been about twenty-four to thirty-six hours ago. Probably some time Friday evening. Until I examine him, I can't be certain what exactly caused his death. He may have bled to death or it could be that when the eye sockets were penetrated, the weapon went far enough into the brain to kill him. And his skull has been degloved."

As she expected, both men look blank.

"Scalped." She pulls back the flap of skin and hair that covers the skull. Hathaway feels his bile rise again, but this time suppresses it long enough to turn aside before he heaves. The odor of his vomit mixes with the rest of the putrid air, and even Lewis turns a bit green.

"Sorry."

Lewis shakes his head at Hobson. "Sometimes, Doctor, I think you do that on purpose." He checks Hathaway, who seems to have recovered. "Could a woman have done this?"

Hobson considers. "A very angry, rather strong woman, yes. And there's one other thing. His trousers are soaked in urine. Whether he wet himself or whether his assailant or someone else urinated on him, I can't tell until we see if we can run DNA on it. If it's not his, I should be able to get you at least the gender of who made that contribution."

Lewis frowns. "Not easy for a woman to . . . y'know. Pee on someone."

Hobson shrugs. "Depends on how she was dressed. But it wouldn't be unusual for the victim of an assault like this to lose bladder control, either during the attack or as he died."

"Alright, thank you, Doctor. If that's it, I think you can move the body."

The two men leave the SOCOs crew to search the rank alley, moving out to the street where breathing is less nauseating.

"Sir? What was it about the marks on his arms?"

Lewis draws in a deep breath, helping to clear his lungs. "I've seen marks like that, back when I was a PC in Newcastle. They're pretty distinctive."

James cocks his head; he's still not getting the answer he seeks.

"Ah, you wouldn't know, would you? A police baton, James. An ASP, from the look of it. I'd say it's possible this man was beaten by a uniformed officer."

Hathaway's eyes flare. "Innocent won't like that conclusion."

"No, she won't. And that's why we're going to keep that one to ourselves for a while yet."

They return to the office, each mulling his own thoughts during the drive.

As they take their places at their desks, and both men start to speak at the same time.

"How did—"

"Sir—"

Hathaway checks himself. "Go ahead, Sir, what was your question?"

Lewis hesitates a beat, but continues. "How did this call come in?"

"Anonymous phone call, there's a body lying in an alley, I think maybe it's dead. That kind of thing."

"No help there, then. Male or female caller?"

"Female."

"Well, maybe the house-to-house in the morning will turn up our caller." Lewis frowns. "What were you going to say, Sergeant?"

Hathaway sucks in his cheeks, steeling himself. His words come out in a bit of a rush so Lewis won't have a chance to interrupt. "Sir, I was wondering if you'd let me head up this inquiry. You know, so I can get some experience at that. Obviously, you would have final say, but I'd like to have first-line responsibility for the decisions."

Lewis stares, dumbfounded. "What, a _murder_ inquiry for your first investigation? Aw, no, Sergeant, I'm sorry. We'll start you out on something a bit lower-profile, I think."

Hathaway bites his tongue, invisibly swallowing his frustration. "Fine. Sir." _We don't __**get **__low-profile cases_. He makes a show of taking out his cigarettes so Lewis will think he's leaving the office only because of his nicotine addiction. In fact, he wants to hit something. Quite possibly, his superior officer.

Lewis scowls at James's retreating back. _How could he think I'd just hand him this case? Murder, maybe involving another cop as a suspect? Ridiculous._

When he returns, Hathaway begins writing up what they know in the incident room. He tries not to look too closely at the grotesque photographs. Anyway, blood doesn't tell them much, they need to know what Hobson finds underneath all that blood.

Around four in the morning, the doctor calls. Her post-mortem report is ready. The two men head over to the morgue, and soon are standing without speaking before the sheet-covered body on the stainless-steel slab. Hobson's eyes flick from one to the other. She can tell there is discord here. She will remain professional to avoid stirring up whatever ill will is being controlled.

She peels back the sheet. Hathaway keeps his eyes from straying to the bludgeoned face.

"Death was more than twenty-four hours ago, I'd say evening, Friday, probably between eight and midnight. Caused by repeated blows to his skull. I can't say whether the fatal blow was one to the back of the head, the side of the head, or through the eye sockets. They all happened in the same series and any one could have killed him. Marks on the arms could be defensive, as he struggled to ward off the blows. Or they could have been made after he was already immobile. There is more bruising of the same sort on his legs." She gestures to the marks there. "_And_, they were all delivered from the front. The attacker did not sneak up from behind."

Hathaway jolts. "He _knew_ his attacker?"

"That's your job, Sergeant. All I'm saying is that it didn't come from behind."

Lewis clears his throat. "Doctor, could these marks be made by an ASP?"

She frowns, puzzled. "Sorry?"

"An ASP, a collapsible police baton?"

"Oh, is that what you call them? Yes, I'd say these are consistent with that."

Hathaway speaks up. "What about an ordinary length of pipe?"

She shakes her head. "No. See these?" She points to small, circular bruises. "These are from the end of the weapon. Thrusting blows, with the tip of it making contact. A pipe would make ring-shaped marks, probably would break the skin. This was a solid rod." She studies Lewis. "Are you thinking your assailant wears a uniform?"

"I'm not thinking anything yet, Doctor."

She frowns a little, and continues with her report. "He'd had sex recently, unprotected, with a woman. Neither her nor his DNA show up in our files. The urine on his trousers was from a second man, also not on file."

"So, still no identification."

"Well, not from that. But I did find this."

She rolls the body over so they can see the man's left shoulder blade, and both men gasp. The skin there bears a tattoo of a familiar red ox and stag, both rearing and holding between them a green shield topped by a swan. _The heraldic emblem of the Thames Valley Police_.

"One of our own, then." Lewis is first to find his voice. He exhales with enough inflection to convey a curse.

Hathaway swallows. "Not necessarily, but unlikely anyone else would get that for a tattoo. All we have to do then is run his prints."

Hobson volunteers. "We're doing that right now. I hope you don't mind, Lewis. I took the liberty of ordering that done when I saw this."

"Not at all, Doctor, saves us some time." Lewis smiles a little at her.

Hathaway snorts, drawing a glare from Lewis. But James keeps his bitter thoughts to himself. _Even Doctor Hobson gets to make decisions on this case. Why not me?_


	3. The Investigation Begins

It is daylight by the time they return to the office. On his way back from his latest smoke break of the morning, Hathaway detours, heading toward the office where their Chief Superintendent, Jean Innocent, is working on the personnel reviews she must file by Monday noon at the latest. He knocks softly on her door.

"Come." She looks up from her desk as he enters. "Ah, Hathaway. What can I do for you? Is this about the murder investigation or about your performance review?"

"Both, in a way, Ma'am." He stands awkwardly, his hands clasped in front of him. She gestures to the chair across from her desk and he sits, gratefully.

"Explain."

"I'm not entirely happy with the mentoring I'm getting from Inspector Lewis, Ma'am. In fact, I'm not at all happy with it. I don't think my performance review fully reflects my abilities, and I'd like more opportunities to develop my competency at organizing an inquiry."

She works her way through his words. "Lewis is holding you back, you mean?"

He twists his mouth, thinking. "Well, yes. Holding me back, preventing me from going forward. I asked him if I could head up this inquiry and he said no. Yet, there doesn't seem to be anything particularly difficult about this, at least not at this stage. I don't see why he can't let me get the initial investigation under way, and if he feels he needs to take over at some point, he can. He won't give me the slightest chance to run things. How am I supposed to learn this if he won't let me try?"

She furrows her brow. She really dislikes this part of her job, trying to sort out personal differences between colleagues. She was always perfectly capable of just getting on with things when she was sergeant and then inspector. _Why do these men have to be so difficult?_

"I'll talk to him about it, alright? I can't make these sorts of decisions for him but maybe I can make a case for you. I must say, though, he listens very little to my advice. I'm sure you're aware of that."

"Thank you, Ma'am. I don't really expect him to change his mind. But I thought I should go on record so you'd know I'm not happy with what is not happening in my career and that I'm frustrated by his treatment of me."

Hathaway makes his way back to the incident room, where Lewis is busily adding things to the board.

"Ah, Sergeant. We've got an ID on our victim. PC Mark Flannery."

"Division?"

"Local Policing. Partner, PC Tony Wilder. Know either of them?" Lewis thinks it unlikely Hathaway would be familiar with any of the beat officers, but you never could tell.

Hathaway shakes his head. "Have you told Wilder yet?"

"Unlike us, he's got the weekend off. They both were supposed to be off yesterday and today. We'll keep Flannery's name quiet for now, I want to be the first to tell him, see how he reacts. But I think we should tell the missus first, don't you?"

James doesn't see room in Lewis's question for a conflicting answer, so he says nothing. They drive in silence to the surprisingly large house that matches the address in Flannery's employment records.

Lewis gives it an appreciative gaze as they get out of the car. "Nice."

Meaghan Flannery gets over her initial shock at the news with fewer tears than Hathaway expected. None, in fact. Lewis begins his questions gently, concealing the pointedness of his inquiry.

"Did he have any enemies you knew about?"

She shakes her head. "None I could name. Doesn't surprise me one bit that he had one, though."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"He was a beat cop, Inspector. And a bastard, when he wanted to be. He worked St. Clements and St. Mary's. Not an easy area, as I'm sure you know. A lot of people would have liked him to just go away so they could conduct their business without his interference, you know what I mean?"

Lewis does know. Hathaway's research had told them that Flannery and Wilder were probably the most effective pair of street cops in the department. They had a remarkable arrest rate, pulled in twice the amount of drug money brought in by any other team. Part of their success may have been due to the fact that the area they policed presented far more opportunities for crimefighting than some of the more law-abiding neighborhoods.

"Weren't you concerned when he didn't come home for two nights in a row?"

She snorts derisively. "There were _lots_ of nights he didn't come home, Inspector. The man had no sense of monogamy. A real, two-timing bastard, in fact. Well, 'two' doesn't begin to cover it, does it? Slept with every woman on his beat, I should think."

"I hate to have to ask this, but . . . did you have sex with him on Friday?"

Her expression tells him all he needs to know. "I suppose his cock was still dripping, eh? Inspector, he was not very interested in having sex with his own wife. No sense of conquest there."

Lewis swallows hard. Hathaway has his intolerance of bloody bodies, but it is marital infidelity that makes Lewis queasy.

Hathaway glances at his boss, and picks up the line of questioning. "Any idea if he had seen anyone in particular in the last few days? Any regular girlfriends among them?"

She rolls her eyes. "As I said, Sergeant, if you can find a woman on his beat who hasn't had sex with Mark, she's either a lesbian or she moved there in the last two days. But there's one, Suzette Richards, she has two kids by him. He spends some time over there seeing the kids. Pays her and some others support for his bastard children. Like we can afford it! A couple months ago, he tells me the car's to be repossessed. We had a big row over that. I mean, why pay these tarts when you can't even afford your own car? No money, no devotion to our marriage—he wasn't much of a husband, Sergeant."

She doesn't know the address but gives them the name of the street Richards lives on. As he parks the car there, Lewis glances around at the run-down buildings. "Don't leave anything of value in sight or the windows will be smashed in when we get back."

Hathaway snorts. "The whole thing will probably be gone. Right, where do we start?"

Although the residents are not very willing to speak to two police officers, it doesn't take them very long to find Suzette Richards. She is in what might pass for a park, sitting on the back of a broken bench, watching a small girl drawing with chalk on the pavement.

Like Meaghan Flannery, she does not cry when she learns of Mark's death. "Yeah, I know Mark. But I haven't seen him in a while, thank God. That's his daughter, Lisa. Her older sister, Macy, is his, too. She's in school."

The girl looks up when she hears her name. Lewis's heart melts at the sight of her: brown, curly hair, bright green eyes, and the face of an angel. She comes over and stares at Hathaway, her chalky fingers reaching out as if to touch him. Hathaway glares at her and inches away.

Suzette continues. "He used to come 'round pretty often to visit Lisa and Macy. But lately he hasn't been paying support, so I won't let him see them."

James is curious. "He didn't come to see _you_?"

Suzette's laugh is harsh, like a bark. "He'd _had_ me. He's not interested in shagging anyone more than a couple of times. He has the attention span of a toddler, always wants someone new." She pauses, and corrects herself. "_Wanted_ someone new. I guess he won't be shagging anyone any more."

Now Lewis has a question. "You said he stopped paying support. Had he been paying pretty well?"

"Yeah, not bad. Five hundred pounds a month, each kid."

"But then he stopped paying?"

"Yeah, the bastard. About six months ago, he comes by and tells me he can't afford it any more. He's still working, doing lots of overtime, I happen to know, so I figure he's just tired of paying. So I tell him he can't see the girls until I see the money. We had a big argument over it. I told him, if he wants to be the dad, he's got to pay like he's the dad. So he quit coming by. Some father. The cheap bastard."

Lewis shifts, and avoids making the comment he wants to make about the risk a woman runs when she has children by a married man.

Lisa speaks up. "He stopped and talked to me lots of times when I was outside, Mummy. I told him to fuck off, like you said, and he got mad. He got a new car, but I think it's shitty. It's noisy and smells like farts. I liked his old car better."

Although Lewis blinks at the girl's speech, Suzette is unfazed by the language her daughter uses. She answers the rest of their questions but can give them little help. Like Meaghan, she's not surprised to learn he had at least one enemy, and she gives them the name of one other woman whom Suzette believes bore Flannery's child.

"I don't know her myself, personally like, but I heard she had his kid. The way she sleeps around, I'm surprised she doesn't have half a dozen by now, the slapper."

Connie Bowler lives only a short distance away, but the detectives drive there, rather than leave the car and walk. She is not happy to talk to them, and does not let them into her flat, but speaks through the open door, which she keeps chained.

"Yeah, I had a son about a year ago. Mark paid me a lot every month, like five hundred quid. But back around June he said he couldn't afford it any more. Well, I mean, I can't afford it, either. So I gave Davey up for adoption. It's too hard being a single mum, anyway. He's better off with a real family." She turns her head away for a moment, and the detectives wait a moment before asking more questions.

Connie hasn't seen Flannery for months, she says. "Once I got pregnant, he really wasn't interested. He changed women more often than some men change their underpants. Bloody prick."

She knows of one other woman whom she thinks had a child by Flannery, and they drive to the squalid block of flats where Connie has directed them. This time, they are allowed in, but Hathaway stands when Lewis and the woman occupy the only two available chairs in the room. Hathaway is surprised at how Mary Jansen seems young, yet at the same time appears tired and worn. When they question her, Mary admits having had a sexual relationship with Flannery but denies he got her pregnant.

"I always made him use a condom. I'm not stupid, Inspector. I don't want a kid 'less I have a husband first. Can't afford one." Her eyes focus, predator-like, on Lewis. "I could use a little cash, if yeh have any extra."

Lewis acts as though he didn't hear her. "When is the last time you saw him?"

"Couple, three weeks ago."

They leave her flat with little more information than that. Lewis says nothing as they stride through the dirty courtyard of the building. But when they get to the street, he puts a hand on Hathaway's arm, bringing him to a stop.

"Why was she lying to us about the kid?"

Hathaway scowls. "Why do you think she was lying?"

"She had kid things, didn't you notice? A Spiderman cup on the counter, a toy car in the corner under the end table? She has a boy, I bet you fifty quid." He looks around, as though seeing the run-down area for the first time.

"Where are we, Sergeant? We're, what, two streets away from where Flannery's body was found, aren't we?" Lewis strides away in the direction of the filthy alley.

"Sir? What do you hope to find?" Hathaway trots to catch up.

"I'm not sure, Sergeant. I just want to see what it looks like, from here to the alley."

It doesn't take long to get to where the alley is marked off by crime scene tape, a pair of constables standing guard, ensuring that nothing is disturbed. Lewis greets the officers, glances around, and shrugs. "Don't know what I expected." He sighs. "Ah, let's get back to work."

Lewis stops abruptly a few yards later. He's staring at a silver Jetta parked along the kerb, and he speaks without looking at Hathaway. "Run that registration. I bet you fifty quid this is Flannery's 'shitty' car."

"What makes you think that?"

"It's an older-model diesel. That little foul-mouthed Lisa said the car was noisy and smelly. Diesels aren't that bad now, but one this age would meet both of those qualifications."

Hathaway fiddles with his Blackberry a few moments, accessing the registration database. When he gets the response, he concedes a smile to Lewis. "You're right, Sir. He registered it five months ago. Before that, his registered vehicle was a 2008 Mercedes SLK with a lien on the title." Hathaway thumbs a few more buttons, and adds to the information. "That one became the bank's about a week before he got the Jetta."

They return to the Vauxhall, and Lewis puts the car in gear, heading south, away from the city.

"Where are we going now, Sir?"

"We're going to break the news to Tony Wilder, unless someone has already told him. See if he feels any kinder toward his partner than all of these heartless women."


	4. Look to the Partner

Wilder does feel kinder. He appears stunned at first, then he blinks and wipes the corners of his eyes repeatedly as he loses the struggle to appear not to be crying. The detectives sit a bit awkwardly in Wilder's small front room, conspicuously not staring at him when he at last breaks down and sobs openly.

"Damn it! Why Mark? Why not me? I'm the one they really hated out on the street. He was so good at getting them to open up to him, tell him what we needed to know."

Jenny, his wife, brings tea in for everyone. She silently hands her husband his cup and makes cups for the detectives according to their directions. When she gets the tea distributed, she takes a chair in the corner of the room, primly crossing her long, slim legs and watching the men with half-closed eyes.

Hathaway clears his throat. "How long were you and Mark partners?"

"Nearly eight years now. We came up through training together, though Mark . . . well, I mean, Mark was always kind of a bloke, you know? Never passed his A-levels, never could have gone to university, never read more than a comic book or a porn mag. Where I could have gone anywhere, maybe even here, passed a mess of A-levels, had some real potential that way."

Hathaway is curious. Wilder speaks the Queen's English, and his manners betray an upper-class background. "Why not university for you?"

"Never wanted to. Too many prats and foreigners. I stumbled across the Thames Valley website and looked into it on a lark. I thought, Why not? There are worse ways to make a living. Then I met Mark while we were in training and we hit it off. We always knew what the other was thinking without having to say anything, you know? You two gents must be the same way." He studies the two detectives a moment.

"Well, maybe it's different if you're not in uniform. For us, though, there's nobody like your partner. You go through everything together. It's closer than a marriage, I think. I mean . . . Ah, you probably don't know what I'm talking about." He blows his nose loudly into a tissue. "Man, I can't believe he's gone. What am I going to do without him?"

But, no, Tony can't think of anyone who might have hated Flannery enough to kill him, though he names a couple of perennial trouble-makers. And yes, he knew about Flannery's kids, and his reputation as a ladies' man. "I'm not saying he was perfect, or anything, nobody is. But, you know, with your partner you ignore whatever flaws he might have. To me, he was gold. I'd give my life in his place if I could."

Lewis helps Jenny Wilder carry the tea things back into the kitchen. She smiles warmly at his gesture.

"Yer so helpful, Inspector. I bet yer wife keeps a close eye on yeh." She stands close—a bit _too_ close—and puts a hand on his chest, fingering his lapel.

"Ah. I don't have a wife."

"Cor, an' yer available, too? Ooh, don't tempt me!"

Hathaway is curious at Lewis's slight blush when he returns from the kitchen. Wilder seems to notice, too, and studies Lewis closely as the two men take their leave.

The partners say nothing on the way back to the office. Both are feeling a little guilty at the uncharitable, _unpartnerlike_ thoughts they'd been having over Hathaway's performance review. They update the incident board, adding all the details they've learned during the course of the day. Other detectives on the team come over to see what is new. One of the younger Detective Constables, Jeremy Taylor, whistles at the list of Flannery's sexual partners and illegitimate offspring.

"So _that's_ the reason those boys in Local love walking their beats. They spend half their time walking and the other half of the time shagging!" This draws sniggers from some of the other men.

Lewis glares at him. "Less mouth, Taylor. We're talking about a dead man."

"Sorry, Sir."

DC Hooper guffaws. "I don't think I'd 'ave the energy to walk if I was spending that much time—" he glances cautiously at Lewis "—well, . . . y'know." Hooper grins at Hathaway. "Hey, Sarge, who's your money on as prime suspect?"

Hathaway shakes his head. "I'm not sure we know enough about him yet. Guess right now I'd be looking at any major drug dealers in their territory."

Taylor pipes up. "One of the women could have had enough of him. Caught him with his trousers around his knees and another woman going down on him, and beat him bloody."

Hathaway scowls. "His trousers weren't around his knees when we found him."

Hooper feigns seriousness. "Nah, Sarge, you gotta use your 'ead. 'Look to the family first,' right? Who's even closer than family for a cop?" He waits a moment, for dramatic effect. "The _partner_. For a cop, it should be 'Look to the _partner_ first.' Especially those two. Abnormally close. You gotta _really_ watch those close ones." He looks innocently at Lewis. "Isn't that right, boss?" Hooper winks at Hathaway, and sails from the room, giggling to himself.

Lewis wheels to go after him, but Innocent enters the room at that moment, obviously seeking an update. She turns first to Hathaway.

"James? Would you like to summarize?" Hathaway explains what they've learned so far, while Lewis watches closely. The Chief Super seems satisfied with his report, but not with their lack of progress, and Lewis gets the lash for that.

"You do realize, don't you, Lewis, that this is a _fellow officer_? Somewhere out there is a cop-killer. Chief Superintendent Stroner has been after me all day to see if you've brought anyone in yet. It's quite an embarrassment to this department that you haven't. Makes it look as though we don't care about his Local officers. They are the heart of this force, Lewis. This _must_ get resolved with all due haste."

She studies the board in depth, frowning more and more deeply as she reads.

"Why does it look like you've listed PC Wilder as a suspect, Lewis?"

"Well, we haven't eliminated him yet, Ma'am. We haven't eliminated _anyone_ yet."

She is thunderstruck. "He's a _policeman_, Lewis. The dead man's _partner_. Maybe you aren't aware of this, but most police officers are incredibly loyal to their partners."

Hathaway notes with alarm the way Lewis's jaw clenches tightly, then grinds slowly.

"Ma'am." All Lewis manages to say, spat out.

But Innocent isn't done yet. "Have you taken leave of your senses? Flannery and Wilder were probably two of the finest Local officers, possibly the best PCs in the entire force. If Chief Superintendent Stroner sees this, Lewis, he will be after my job. Mine, yours, and everyone else in CID. They are very tight, those boys in Local. You will regret ever having so much as _thought_ one of them could be responsible. Now erase Wilder from that list and put him on the witness list before I give this investigation to an inspector with more common sense."

She sweeps from the incident room before Lewis can reply.

Biting his tongue, Lewis stalks out and heads for their office, Hathaway close behind him.

"Why is she on _my_ case all of the sudden? I've been at this nonstop since before midnight. I'm not going out and arresting someone just so we can say we have someone in custody. And I'm not taking Wilder off the list until we can eliminate him properly. Bloody hell."

Hathaway tries to justify Innocent's wrath. "Stroner can be a territorial bastard. She's probably just reacting to him putting the heat on her all day."

Lewis rolls his eyes. "You _would_ take her side."

"I'm not taking her side, I'm only—Ah, never mind."

He's earned another glare. "I don't suppose the house-to-house gained us anything?"

The sergeant looks morose. "You know how neighborhoods like that are. No one saw anything, heard anything, or knows anything. No one admits to having phoned in the call."

"Damn."

"Do you still think he might have been beaten by a cop?"

Lewis blows out his cheeks. "Nah, I don't know what to think. His own ASP was missing from his kit, wasn't it? Probably he was carrying it with him for some reason, and his assailant took advantage of the weapon being at hand."

Hathaway studies his notes. He hadn't noticed that there was no baton listed in the inventory of Flannery's equipment.

"You're right about the baton being absent. I, erm . . . I was never in uniform, you know? So that didn't jump out at me."

"Yeah, well, maybe there's some value to bringing detectives up through the ranks after all." Lewis twists an ironic smile.

Hathaway ponders his boss a while. They've suffered today, as a team, and Hathaway knows it's partly his fault. "You were in uniform up in Newcastle, right? Back in the early eighties?"

Lewis looks up, surprised at the friendly tone. "Yeah, late seventies, early, mid-eighties."

"You did a lot of riots and such, I imagine. Is that where you learnt about the marks a baton leaves?"

"Yeah, that's right. Left a few of them m'self, like. Ours were straight, one-piece jobs back then, but the marks were about the same." Lewis wonders what Hathaway is getting at.

"Do you think they were genuine, Wilder's tears?"

Lewis frowns in concentration. "I'm not sure. There was emotion there, no doubt. What do you think?"

Hathaway purses his lips. "Something seemed not quite right. But I couldn't say what."

The inspector gets up and closes the door to their office. He speaks quietly. "I'll tell you something I _do_ know that's 'not quite right.' You can't afford a big house, a posh car, and three illegitimate children at the rate of five hundred quid a month each on a PC's whack. Even at the top of his range, he can't be pulling down more than thirty-six or thirty-seven thou' a year, gross."

Hathaway slips easily into the role of devil's advocate. "He worked a lot of overtime. Payroll backs that up."

"Not _that_ much overtime."

Hathaway knows what Lewis is aiming at. "You think he was crooked."

"Maybe taking the bung. Or dirty. Collecting up the contraband for resale."

The sergeant's face is full of worry. "You can't put any of that up on the board!"

"Why do you think I'm tellin' you with the bloody door closed, man?" Lewis closes his eyes. "God, this is a bloody mess."

Hathaway pushes one more time. "I'd be willing to take the heat, Sir, if you'll let me head this up."

The older man looks as though he thinks Hathaway has lost his mind. "This is serious stuff, Hathaway, man. If Innocent gets wind of this theory before we have any evidence, we'll both be off the case, it won't matter who's in charge."

Hathaway snorts and says nothing. He doesn't need to, his attitude speaks volumes. _If it really didn't matter to you, you'd put me in charge._

"Look, why don't you go home and get some sleep? I'm going to go out to Swindon to interview Flannery's sister. Then I'm going home to get a couple hours' sleep meself. We're neither of us functioning very well any more, I think. Time to recharge."

_Speak for yourself, Guv_. But Hathaway knows Lewis is right. It's getting to the point where they are both no longer making forward progress in their thinking. Without another word, Hathaway shuts down his computer and gathers his things for the night.

Lewis watches him, concern knitting his face. "Look, James . . ."

He is studiously ignored. Hathaway strides from the office without a backward glance.

* * *

Lewis's dreams that night—when he manages to sleep—are rank with betrayal. Hathaway is behind it, his ambitions for advancement fueling a foolish act. He will bring them both down, he should never have reached beyond the level of his talent. He seeks advancement at any price, is willing to trample Lewis on his relentless climb up the career ladder. Now they will both fail, the investigation will collapse on itself, and the guilty will go unpunished. Lewis cries out in his sleep, and yet again wakes up shivering and sweating at the same time. _Hathaway? He wouldn't have done this! Or would he?_


	5. Another Body

It is close to dawn when Hathaway is dragged out of dreamless sleep by his mobile, ringing insistently.

"Yeah, Hathaway."

He learns there is another suspicious death needing his attention. Several doses of caffeine and nicotine later, he is standing in the chilly darkness, watching Doctor Hobson tug a plastic sheet over the face of a small boy. She stands and walks shakily over to James. Her eyes glisten in the dark.

"Where's Robbie?"

Hathaway snorts. "Probably asleep with his mobile off. All I know is they said they couldn't reach him. I'll stop by his place after this, get him moving." He nods toward the sheet on the ground. "What do we have?" He keeps his voice level and gentle. None of them is good at handling the death of a child.

"On first look, I'd say he died of exposure. But there are some signs of recent physical abuse. Nothing that's enough to kill him." She bites her lip. Hathaway puts an arm around her.

"These are the hardest, aren't they, Doctor? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." She shrugs him off. "None of them is easy. I'll call when the post-mortem is ready."

Hathaway spends the better part of the morning writing up the newest death. He is working alone in his office when his attention is caught by the sound of the office door closing. He looks up, expecting to see Lewis, but instead it is Chief Superintendent Innocent who leans against the door.

"Lewis is where?"

Hathaway hesitates a moment between the truth and covering for his boss. He opts for the former. "I don't know, Ma'am. He's not answering his mobile or his home phone. I went to his flat when I left the scene this morning, but I don't think he was there. His car was gone."

She sighs melodramatically. "Where was his last known location?"

Hathaway explains that Lewis intended to go to Swindon to interview Flannery's sister.

"Why focus on that? Isn't it most likely one of the neighborhood thugs did him in?"

"Well, Inspector Lewis thought it was something that should be followed up."

She sighs again. "I was hoping to have a word with him, about your review. When you see him, send him to speak with me, please."

"Yes, Ma'am."

An hour later, James receives a call from Doctor Hobson: the post-mortem report is ready. "Any word from Lewis?"

"No, Doctor. He still can't be reached and he hasn't called or shown up yet."

But as soon as James rings off from her call, his mobile buzzes again: _Lewis calling_. He punches it to connect. "Sir? Where the hell have you been?"

A moment of silence. "Sergeant, I'll pretend you didn't just now use that tone with me, alright? I'm sorry I was out of communication; it couldn't be helped. Anything happening?"

"Yeah, we're due at the morgue right now for another P-M. There's been a child found dead." Hathaway can't contain his frustration any longer. "What, did Flannery's sister prove to be as much of a flirt as he was? Did you spend the night or something?"

A moment of stony silence. "I'll be at the morgue in ten minutes." And the line goes dead.

When Hathaway arrives at the morgue, he lets Hobson know they should wait for Lewis. "Ten minutes, he said. I can't wait to hear what his story is."

She cocks her head, silently taking note of the hostile tone. "Where do you think he's been?"

James hesitates. He's not certain what the relationship is between his boss and the pathologist. She might take offense at his theory that Lewis spent the night engaging in sexual activity with another woman.

"Well, I'm not really certain. But he wasn't answering his mobile, he wasn't home all night, won't say where he was, and he went to meet a single woman who might have needed comforting when she learned of her brother's death. You do the maths."

Hobson raises an eyebrow but says nothing. They hear the outer doors open, and moments later, Lewis bursts in, slightly breathless.

Hathaway stares. "You look like hell."

It's not much of an exaggeration. Lewis is wearing the same clothes he wore the day before, but now they are rumpled as though he spent much of the night in them. He clearly has not shaved. His eyes are red and very tired-looking.

"Thanks for that, Sergeant. Shall we get on with the reason we're here?" His tone is clipped, businesslike.

Hobson glances at Hathaway. _Still not offering an explanation. That adds to the equation_. And she begins her report.

"The boy is around six, rather poorly nourished and dirty. Death was caused by hypothermia. He was wearing only thin pyjamas. His stomach contents include a number of partly-digested tablets of Duponex, a sleep aid."

Lewis grunts, recognizing the drug by name. "Enough to kill him, eventually?"

"No. Possibly enough to make him unconscious. Certainly enough to make him groggy. Even if he had been conscious, he would have been very uncoordinated and might not have thought to call out for help. These bruises here . . . and here . . . show he was recently physically abused, but there's no evidence he was ever seriously beaten or sexually abused."

She stares steadily at Lewis. To Hathaway, she appears confrontational. But Lewis knows this is the hardest kind of death for her and she is doing all she can to remain professional. He looks away.

"I'm sorry, Doctor."

She inhales, bites her lower lip a moment, and continues. "That's about it, really. Someone drugged him and left him outside for too long, so he died of exposure."

Lewis looks sadly at his sergeant, who is likewise looking at him. _Is this connected to Flannery somehow?_ A small sound draws their attention back to the pathologist. She is swallowing hard, choking back tears and struggling to maintain her objectivity. Lewis turns to Hathaway.

"I'll meet you back at the office in a few minutes, alright, Sergeant?" His tone conveys a slightly different message: _Get out of here so I can console Laura without you looking over my shoulder_.

Hathaway wheels and heads for the door. He tries not to think uncharitable thoughts about his superior officer. But the man appears to have come straight from the bed of one woman and into the arms of another. James snorts in disgust as he leaves the building.

Lewis turns to his old friend and gathers her in his arms. "Laura, it's okay. Let it out."

She does, tears cascading down her cheeks. She buries her sobs in his shoulder. He rubs his cheek on her forehead, until she pulls back, a tiny smile on her face.

"Robbie, you haven't shaved. You're scratching me."

"Ah, sorry. I forgot." He gently kisses the reddened and irritated skin above her brow. "Better?"

She shakes her head, laughing a little. "You can be such a flirt, Robbie." Her eyes are fond. "A flirt with a secret, maybe?" Then she cocks her head and raises an eyebrow, encouraging his admission.

But it does not come. "It's not what Hathaway thinks, Laura." He blows out his cheeks. "I wish it was something that simple." He inhales deeply. "But it's not. It's, erm . . ." He closes his eyes and his sigh seems to be half sob. "I need to try to get it sorted, alright? And then I can tell you. You gonna be okay?"

She nods, not quite yet able to speak about the examination she has just conducted.

"Good. I'd like to ask you about something, if you have a minute?"

"I need to put this away first." She gestures toward the small body.

"I'll wait."

Shortly after, they are sitting cradling cups in a nearby coffeehouse. Laura waits expectantly while Lewis tries to marshal his thoughts. She is good at reading him, and when after several minutes he seems no closer to speaking, she takes a chance on beginning the conversation.

"Is this about James?"

He flinches a smile. "Yeah, how'd you know? Well, I suppose it's obvious. We're not working as a team. And this case, these cases, are too important for us to be off our timing."

"How much of this comes from you?"

"I dunno. All of it, maybe. Maybe none of it. I'm having trouble trusting him. And I have no patience for his attitude. He thinks he can run this inquiry. Or his lack of stomach. I mean, how does he think he's going to be a homicide detective if he can't look at a little blood without losing his breakfast?"

"Morse could never handle bodies either. It didn't make him less of a detective."

"He's not Morse, surely!"

She shrugs. "You don't know what Morse was like when he was only a sergeant. And he always had plenty of attitude."

"Yeah, he did that." He studies his coffee mug. "You really think I should treat James as though he's Morse-in-training?"

"Why not? Until he proves himself unworthy of that, I think you should." She looks at him sideways. "What's with you not trusting him?"

"I have this mad idea he'd stitch me up to make himself look good."

She frowns deeply. "Robbie! That's ridiculous! He'd go to the ends of the earth for you, you know that. How can you begin to think that—unless he's done something you haven't mentioned?"

Lewis considers, then shakes his head. "Naw, you're right. It's me. Things are . . . I dunno. I'm not in control of this investigation any more. I'm making bad decisions. It's not his doing, it's me own fault. I haven't been careful enough about the politics of this case."

"Politics?"

"Yeah, politics. This case is turning into an interdepartmental pissing match. And you know me, I'm no good at that. Maybe it _would_ be better for him to have a different boss."

"Don't be silly, Robbie, you two are perfect together. He may be brilliant, but he doesn't know everything. He needs to learn from _you_. And if he's feeling resentful, or if he gets transferred to another inspector, that learning won't happen and the force may lose one of the best detective teams it has had since you and Morse ran the place."

He grins at that. "We _never_ ran the place, Laura. Strange wouldn't have let us, and Morse wouldn't have put up with the paperwork." He grows more serious as he considers her advice very thoroughly.

"Maybe you're right, Pet. I think I've been feeling envious of his rapid rise through the ranks. DC Hooper's been putting ideas in me head, is all. And now with . . . Anyway, I'm being foolish. I should be proud of him. If he does well, that makes me look good, too." Lewis looks more relaxed than he has ever since he entered the morgue over an hour ago.

"You've helped me more than you know. Thanks, Doctor."

Laura merely nods her acknowledgement. _I like it better when you call me 'Pet.'_


	6. A Change in Command

When Lewis returns to the office, Hathaway can sense a change in the older man's demeanor. Lewis pops his head in, catches Hathaway's eye, and simply tells him they're going to talk to Innocent. All James can do is hop up from his desk and follow Lewis down the corridor.

"Ma'am? Do you have a moment?"

She flicks her eyes from one to the other. It is clear Hathaway is in the dark as much as she is.

"Yes, come in and close the door."

They do, and Lewis waits, as he always does in her presence, to be invited to speak.

She sucks in a breath, squinting at the pair. "What is it, Lewis? I hope you are going to explain your inability to be contacted for _hours_ overnight?"

"Yeah, this is about that. I'm sorry I couldn't take the call out, Ma'am. I was, erm . . . I was in the Wiltshire nick all night."

Hathaway stares, gaping openly. Innocent is dumbfounded. "You were _arrested_, Lewis?"

"Yes, Ma'am." He looks directly at her.

"Oh, my God. Whatever for?"

"Supplying class A drugs, Ma'am. Last night I was driving home, and I was pulled over for speeding just outside Swindon, which I believe I probably was doing. But the traffic cops went straight for the boot of me car. Found a package of what they told me was heroin there. About a kilo."

Both of the other officers are too stunned to speak, so he continues. "I spent the night in the cell and bonded out this morning. But charges are still pending, so I expect you will need to do something about my employment status in light of that."

Silence overtakes the three as two of them struggle to comprehend what they've just been told.

Innocent is the first to find her bearings. "Lewis, why on earth did you have heroin in your car?"

He stares a moment. "It wasn't _mine_, Ma'am. Surely you can't think that I . . . It's some bloody stitch-up, is what it is, man. If I could have a couple of DCs get on over to Wiltshire to figure out—"

"Absolutely _not_, Lewis! It's not a Thames Valley matter! Just like any other citizen, if you want to inquire into the circumstances of your arrest, you will need to hire a private agency. Our officers serve the public, not your personal interests."

"Yes, Ma'am." Lewis's tone is stinging, but Innocent is immune.

"You know I have to suspend you until this is resolved. With pay, but you're off the investigation, you have to be. How much longer, do you think . . .?"

"Well, they have their evidence and I'm not going to plead, so I imagine this will come to trial in, what? A couple of months?"

Neither of them answers.

"And if I get convicted, it's a three-year minimum sentence. So it looks like there's no way I'll be getting back on the case."

"_Convicted?_ Lewis, what are you talking about? You can't tell me a jury would convict you for dealing in heroin!"

He shakes his head. He's past being bitter about the situation. "Well, Ma'am, all I can say is I have no idea how drugs got into the boot of me car. If the jurors believe me, it's over. And if they don't . . . well, it's over then, too."

Innocent's head sinks into her hands, elbows resting on her desk. "What _now_, Lewis? Are you saying I have to assign this case to a new team at this point in the investigation?" The frustration is clear in her voice.

"No, Ma'am. I don't think that's necessary." He inhales through his nose. "What I hope you'll do is . . . let Sergeant Hathaway take the lead on this. He's fully capable, I believe. And, erm, I will be . . . y'know. Available for consultation at least until my trial." He suddenly swallows hard. _My trial_.

Lewis glances to check his sergeant's reaction, but there is no evidence James even heard him. Which is pretty much the truth. His mind is still reeling from the news of Lewis's arrest.

She frowns at Hathaway, as though this somehow is part of his plan. "Well, Sergeant? Can you handle this? If Lewis gets—" She can't bring herself to say it, and she starts over. "I can't let this reach a result with only a sergeant as the lead investigating officer. I may have to pull you off, too, if worst comes to worst."

Hathaway realizes with a jolt that he's expected to say something. _Did he just ask for me to be in charge of the investigation?_

"Ma'am, I think it would be best for all of us to approach this with optimism. We know Inspector Lewis is innocent, and we have to have faith in the criminal justice system. Otherwise, what are we all doing here, anyway? I'm prepared to shoulder responsibility for the case while Lewis is, erm . . . suspended, and I understand if he, erm, won't be returning to the case then you'll have to reassign it at that point."

Innocent bites her lip as she decides what to do. She tries to ignore the little voice in her head that is thrilled her top team has once again risen above their petty personal squabbles. But she has been dealt a serious blow by Lewis's news. How will it look if one of her top detectives is convicted of a drugs offense? _How does Lewis get himself into these messes and then drag me down with him?_ She pushes her misgivings to the side.

"Alright, gentlemen. Lewis, you are suspended with pay as soon as you debrief Sergeant Hathaway. You will let me know immediately if anything changes with your situation. Hathaway, you will head up both the Flannery case and the 'Joe Bloggs,' unknown minor, case. You may consult by telephone with Inspector Lewis, but he is not to appear in person in this building once his suspension begins. All of this is to be kept as quiet as possible. Hathaway, no crowing to the DCs and please try to appear as though things are perfectly normal. Understood, both of you?"

The two men return to their office. Lewis drops like a stone into his desk chair, laying his head on his arms atop his desk, giving in to his weariness. Hathaway also sinks heavily into his chair, studying his superior officer with trepidation.

"Sir?" He ventures, very cautious. There is no answer.

"Sir, thank you for your confidence. I'll do everything I can to prove I deserve your trust."

Still no response.

"Sir, I need to know if you learnt anything last night. Before your arrest, I mean." Hathaway winces inwardly. That sounded a bit cheeky.

Lewis picks up his head and wipes his hands over his face vigorously. "Right. Yeah, a'course." He pulls out his little notepad. But he pauses before he opens it.

"Hathaway, last night . . ." At last, Lewis makes eye contact with his sergeant. "They had me in an interview room, right? Trying to get me to confess. And they said if _I_ hadn't put the drugs in the car, then it must have been _you_, 'cos you're the only other person with keys to it. I think they wanted me to put the finger on you, since I wouldn't admit to it. Or else get me to confess to protect you. A'course I didn't do either, 'cos I had no idea _how_ the drugs got in the car."

"Thank you, Sir."

Lewis waves him off, he's not done yet with his speech. "The thing is, after they gave up on me and I was sitting in that cell all night, I started thinking you _had_ put the package there. Obviously you wouldn't be dealing or using. But I thought, y'know, _I_ hadn't done it, so who else? I thought you were trying to stitch me up. That you were so angry at me you'd do something like that. I had these nightmares and all . . ." He breaks off, the memory clearly distressing him. "Aw, hell."

Hathaway stares at him, open-mouthed.

"Look, James, I'm sorry I thought that about you, even for a minute. I've considered it more rationally now, out in the free air, and you don't deserve for me to distrust you so badly. It's Hooper and his 'don't trust the partner' and all this pressure from Innocent. Okay? I'm sorry, man, I really mean that. I just thought you should know how . . . well, how stupid I can be."

James closes his mouth and sniffs in. "Apology accepted, Sir." There is an awkward silence, and James clears his throat. "Now, about your interview with Miss Flannery?"

Lewis gives a small smile. He feels much better after his confession, even though he can't help thinking he's talked far too much.

"Right. Flannery's sister, Regina, saw him about a week before his death. She thought something had changed in his life about six months ago. Until last summer, he had been generous with his money, and always in a good mood. He sent her expensive gifts now and then, and bragged about that big house. It was her sense that he was coming into the money somehow due to his work. She would ask him about seeking promotion, and he would always laugh and say he already had the best job in the world."

Hathaway snorts at that. "He has to be the first PC to ever think that."

Lewis shrugs. "Anyway, starting last summer, he began to show less generosity. No more gifts. And his attitude changed. He complained about how the mothers of his children were all looking for handouts and that it was time they learnt how to support themselves, like everyone else had to. He even began asking Regina for money; loans or gifts. She noticed small, rather valuable items going missing: electronics, jewelry, and the like, corresponding to Flannery's visits."

He closed his notebook. "But that's it. She doesn't know why he had money and the suddenly was running short or what else may have changed in his life last summer."

Hathaway considered this new information. "What's your theory, Sir?"

"For now, I'm still leaning toward a drug dealer in Flannery's territory. But I think it may have to do with Wilder. If Flannery was shaking down the residents and dealers of his area, Wilder would have known. So, why not tell us? And why doesn't Wilder also have lots of extra spending money, if he was in on it?"

The younger man again takes on his role of arguing in the alternative. "We still don't know that Flannery was doing anything illegal; he was a cop, after all. Anyway, Wilder doesn't have a motive. Why kill his partner, even if he was crooked? What about all the women? Any of them could have done it, they all hated him. You heard how they all talked about him."

"Yeah, it seems only right that Flannery's comeuppance would stem from his lack of morals." Lewis scowls, thinking about the man's utter disrespect for the institution of marriage.

"Well, it's _all_ due to a lack of morals, isn't it? No fidelity in marriage _or_ work, if you're right about his source of income. Maybe one of his dealers started withholding payment. Then when Flannery went and threatened him, the dealer killed him."

"That sounds pretty workable." Lewis sighs, thinking about the post-mortem report of the morning. "Why can't we find the murder weapon? And what's the connection with little 'Joe Bloggs'? Anything? Who would dope up a little kid and then send him out into the cold with no jacket?"

"Bloggs is another one of Flannery's kids, maybe? There could be dozens we don't know about. His wife seemed to think that three lovers would be a serious underestimate."

"Yeah, that's a good point. How are we gonna find them, though?" Lewis flinches, and corrects himself. "How are _you_ going to find them?"

There is a knock at the door, and Innocent opens it without being invited to do so. Her mouth is firm, but her fingers are fluttering, nervous.

"Lewis, are you still here? You need to go _now_. Already the entire station knows about your arrest, somehow. I expect the lads from Wiltshire couldn't wait to gloat to their mates here." She averts her eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry I have to do this, Robbie."

He raises his eyebrows at Hathaway. "You okay? Work all three of those angles, will you? Something has to give at some point." He shuts down his computer, collects his coat and other things, then stops, glancing at Innocent.

"I can come back and get me personal things if . . . well, y'know. If I need to. Right?"

She bites her lip. "Of course, Lewis. But don't think like that. You don't deserve this, wherever it's coming from."

"I agree, Ma'am. It'd be nice to have a little help with it." His gaze is steady.

She averts her eyes from him, and Lewis brushes by her and goes out without looking back.

Innocent comes all the way into the office and closes the door. She is looking sternly at Hathaway.

"All three of _what_ angles, Sergeant?"

"Well, Ma'am, Inspector Lewis thinks that PC Wilder is somehow involved in this, and I think it has something to do with all of Flannery's sexual liaisons. Or it could be one of the drug dealers in their territory."

"Drop the investigation of Wilder, is that clear? I'm ordering you right now, Hathaway."

James chafes under her attempt to direct the investigation. "Ma'am, we have evidence that Flannery had some sort of additional source of income that recently dried up on him. I'd like to keep Wilder on the list at least for purposes of developing that aspect of the case. As Flannery's partner, Wilder very well may have been privy to what was going on in Flannery's personal life."

The Chief Super frowns deeply. "What are you saying? That Flannery was crooked? Do you have any proof of that? Sergeant, _no_. Just . . . _No_." She huffs, clearly trying to decide whether to explain. "Look, Stroner's asked for an internal investigation of Lewis's handling of this whole thing. He's pointing to Lewis's arrest and claiming somehow he's mixed up in something that's, well, if not illegal, highly questionable and unethical. And not just Lewis. The entire CID is under investigation, including myself."

She shakes her head reprovingly. "You wanted leadership responsibility, Hathaway, and now you have it. In spades. It may be just as well you're in charge and not Lewis. He has a tendency to blunder on regardless of how it makes the department appear. I trust you have more sense than that."

Still frowning, she swirls from the office, leaving only a faint scent of lilac.

"I told you, you 'ave to watch out for those partners, eh, Sarge?" The cheery face of Hooper appears around the office door. "Dealing drugs, who'd 'ave thought? So you're the guv now, eh?"

Hathaway looks up smartly. He takes a minute to reorganize his thoughts, and then continues as though there has been no interruption. "That's right, Hooper, I'm the guv. So here are my orders. Get on to forensics and tell them to run paternity DNA on that Joe Bloggs, the dead boy, right? Cross-check it with Flannery, the unidentified female with whom he had sex before he died, and the unidentified male DNA from the urine specimen. Put out feelers for any payoffs or other misdeeds that might have been going on in Flannery's territory and that he might have had a hand in. But keep it quiet; Wilder is still out there, and Local are getting their back up about us sniffing around. And then I want a discreet house-to-house in the area of the alley. I want to know if any of her neighbors think Mary Jansen might have had a child. For now, I want our focus to be on Flannery's womenfolk. You may think the partner is the key, but I think the _women_ are the key."

Hooper stands open-mouthed at Hathaway's unexpected exercise of authority. But the younger man's tone softens, and he comes over close so the DC can hear him when he speaks more quietly.

"Look, Hooper, someone is out to get the boss. This arrest, it's a stitch-up. It'll get sorted, but in the meantime, we have to make our unit look good. For Lewis. Let's see if we can make some real progress on these murders so when he comes back, all he has to do is sign the reports. Alright?"

Hooper gives a little bow. "Yessir, boss. Goin' to work right now, boss." He strides away down the corridor.

Hathaway can't help the little thrill he feels at the responsibility he's taken on. And he's more than a little nervous. Standing from his new perspective, he can see why Lewis hesitated to put him in charge of this case at the start. If they get this wrong, the entire force will take the heat from the press.

He wanders over to the incident room. He'll have to remove Wilder from the list of people warranting further investigation. Anything more will have to be done off the books for now. The room is empty, the detectives being out following the orders he gave to Hooper, and Hathaway has a quiet moment to feel a little regret as he wipes Wilder's name. Sitting in the corner of the room, Hathaway thinks. Lewis's theory has merit, and it should not be dismissed for purely political reasons.

James is surprised when the incident room door opens and a uniformed officer enters. He is not someone James recognizes from the back. _This isn't one of our detectives_.

"Can I help you?"

The man whirls, and Hathaway is on his feet, instantly registering the face. _Wilder!_

The PC's smile is wide. "Sergeant Hathaway. I was hoping to find your guv'nor. Is he around?"

James scowls. "Inspector Lewis has been taken off the case, as I'm sure the entire station knows by now. I'm surprised you haven't heard."

He smiles even wider. "No, I knew that. I meant, I was hoping to find the inspector in charge. Has an announcement been made yet as to whom that will be?"

"As of now, I'm reporting directly to Chief Superintendent Innocent."

Wilder frowns. "_You're_ in charge?"

"I suppose it looks that way." Hathaway's guard is up. Wilder has no business here, and the way he entered the room leads James to the conclusion that he expected the room to be unoccupied. "Now, is there anything I can help you with?"

Wilder involuntarily checks toward the board with its posted photos and scrawled notes.

"Constable? This is a CID matter, as I'm sure you know. If there's something you want to talk to me about, why don't we step into my office?" Without actually touching him, Hathaway firmly guides Wilder to the door.

"No, no, there's nothing. I just wanted to find out who would be handling the case. I can't believe Innocent's letting a _sergeant_ be in charge. She really doesn't care about solving this, does she?"

"Actually, she does, but she's been getting some, erm, _interference_ in the matter. So she's proceeding very carefully and doesn't want to be rushed into a decision about who should replace Inspector Lewis. Anything else?"

Wilder storms from the room, his hostility carried high, like a battle flag. Hathaway slumps in a chair, suddenly exhausted. They will have to be careful not to leave the incident room unattended from now on. _He_ will have to be careful, it's his responsibility now.

Hathaway locks the room as he goes out, and returns to his office. He spends the next several hours clicking away through police records of all types. By the end of the day, he has collected what he considers very interesting information, which he can share with no one else. _Almost_ no one else.


	7. Officer In Charge

Lewis hauls himself off the settee when the doorbell rings. He clicks the door's intercom and breaks into a broad smile when a familiar voice tells him the pizza and beer he ordered have arrived. He buzzes Hathaway in, and they immediately crack open the beers and gather around the pizza box, consuming at least two slices of ham-and-pineapple pizza before Lewis slows down to lick his fingers and wipe his mouth.

The senior partner frowns at the box in front of him. "I saw the appeal on the telly. Innocent didn't trust you enough to do it? I thought you're supposed to be the OIC?"

"I'm the OIC until it comes to the press. She thought it might look bad if a mere sergeant broke the news about a dead child. So she did it herself. Woman's touch and all that rot, too."

"Oh, aye, she's the motherly type, sure enough."

Hathaway peels another slice of pizza out of the box and sits back a moment, holding it out in front of himself.

"I learnt something rather interesting today, Sir."

"Oh, what was that? It's harder than you thought to be the Officer-In-Charge?"

"Oh, no, that turned out to be surprisingly easy." Hathaway's tone drips with the wind-up, and Lewis chuckles.

"Yeah, right."

"Okay, seriously. I dug into all the arrests made by our boys, Wilder and Flannery. They're remarkably successful at arresting drug dealers and prostitutes."

"Yeah, I've heard that."

"Only, not quite as successful at bringing charges that actually stick."

Lewis cocks his head. "Meaning?"

"Nearly half of their arrestees walk, charges dismissed for lack of evidence. Another quarter of them generally plead to greatly reduced charges."

Lewis purses his lips, thinking.

Hathaway continues. "I asked some of the vice officers, very informally, of course, what they thought about the pair. It turns out, they generate minimally effective results. A high arrest record, a fair amount of confiscated drugs and money, but few substantive convictions. And—" he pauses for dramatic effect, swigging his beer. "A lot of what look like false arrests, planted drugs and the like. Hooper and some of the lads were out on the street and they found the same thing. Local dealers and prostitutes didn't have much good to say about either of the men. Wilder was rough on them. Flannery, at least, could be bought. But his price was pretty high."

"So, there's some actual evidence that the pair of them were working the streets themselves?"

"I think so. Flannery was, at least. I want to send some teams of DCs out to a couple of Her Majesty's correctional facilities to interview some of the dealers who didn't get away, but Innocent has made it clear I am not to waste resources trying to make a fellow officer look bad."

Lewis frowns. "What, we can't pursue Wilder at all?" He drums his fingers on the pizza box. "See, that's the problem with me being out of there. She only has to look in one direction now. If we were both there, we could have one of us out working on that and the other running a diversion."

Hathaway blinks in amazement. "I find this open insubordination a bit shocking, Sir, I must say."

Lewis grins. "Hathaway, man, you're the Oh-I-See now, the Officer-In-Charge. If it's training you want from me on that, it's training you'll get. It's not about running the investigation the way Innocent tells you. You need to run the investigation _so it appears to be_ the way Innocent tells you, and yet still gets results. See the difference?"

"And this is the way you've been doing things all along?"

"Yup."

Hathaway shakes his head, barely suppressing his grin. "As I said, shocking."

Lewis can't stop himself from smiling. Until the doorbell rings again. His eyes flick toward the intercom on the wall.

Hathaway cocks his head. "Expecting company, Sir?"

"Erm, yes I am, actually. And you're ready to be on your way, right, Sergeant?" Lewis goes to the door and buzzes in Laura Hobson.

Hathaway suppresses a knowing smirk. "Doctor. Good evening."

"Well, hello, James. I didn't expect to see you here."

"Hathaway was just on his way out. Right, James?"

"Oh, yeah, absolutely. I have no desire to stay around here if you two are going to . . . whatever it is you do."

Lewis rolls his eyes. "It's not what you think, Hathaway. She's teaching me how to play chess."

"Of course, _chess_. I understand. You two enjoy your . . . 'chess', okay? Goodnight, Sir, Doctor." Hathaway closes the door behind him as he goes, smiling to himself. _Chess_. _Right. Where's the board?_

* * *

Shortly after nine on Tuesday morning, the telephone on Hathaway's desk rings. He checks the LCD screen and sees that the phone recognizes the source of the call as Doctor Hobson's lab.

"Yeah, it's Hathaway."

"James, what the hell is this 'Courier Copper Caught' I am reading in the paper? Is this what Lewis was dealing with Sunday night? Why on earth didn't he say something yesterday? And how come he's not answering his phone?"

"Erm, yeah, that's why he was out all night. My theory was way off, as it turns out."

"Well, what is going on? Don't tell me Lewis is dealing drugs now. He told me the Flannery case was getting political. Is this what he meant by that?"

"I'd say so. At least, that's how it looks to me. He was getting up the nose of the wrong person somewhere. And his reward is this: criminal charges and possibly a conviction, if the jury doesn't believe him. These people aren't larking about."

"How could anyone not believe him? He has the most honest demeanor of anyone I know."

"Who can tell with something political like this?"

She huffs a bit. "Well, who's in charge of the cases now?"

"Actually, I am. Reporting directly to Innocent."

"Oh, James. No wonder he was having trouble trusting you. How suspicious does that look, anyway? You go begging him to give you the case and then, after he refuses, he gets picked up for something he couldn't have done and you get handed the Officer-In-Charge hat?"

"I know. I think they intended to take care of us both in one move."

She sighs. "I'll try calling him again. Maybe he's having a lie-in on his day off." She shifts tone, becoming more professional at once. "Anyway, I have the forensic results you asked for yesterday."

"Brilliant, that was fast."

"We're all caught up for once. So, little Joe Bloggs is Flannery's son. Maybe we should call him Joe Flannery from now on? Mother is unknown. It's not the woman who had sex with Flannery the day he died."

"So there _is_ a Flannery connection. Thanks, Doctor."

As he rings off, the office door bursts open, and Chief Superintendent Innocent rushes in, hair flying, jacket askew. It is clear to Hathaway that she is in a state of serious distress.

"Ma'am?"

"Press conference, Sergeant. Come."

Hathaway scrambles to his feet, smoothing his hair as he trots behind Innocent. _Bloody hell, she could have given me some warning._

The press conference is, to say the least, confrontational. The tabloid reporters are clearly gleeful over the misdeeds of a senior officer, regardless of the merits of the case against him or the fallout tainting the reputation of Thames Valley Police. Hathaway remains silent, only nodding in acknowledgement when Innocent states that for now she is taking over as Officer-In-Charge, with Sergeant James Hathaway reporting directly to her.

The shouted questions and implied accusations remind James very much of the time his parents took him to the London Zoo when he was seven, where he saw the hyenas being fed the hindquarter of a zebra. As he did then, he suddenly feels a wave of nearly insuppressible nausea. _At least there's no blood. Yet_.


	8. Lewis On His Own

Lewis is operating as a private citizen now, without benefit of the badge of his office. He knows he needs to be careful; it is far too easy to get himself in trouble either for misusing his office if he pretends to have police authorization for his acts, or to get himself hurt when the thugs and criminals he expects to be speaking with realize he is no different than any other man on the street. He also needs to draw the line at collecting information Hathaway can use unverified, and that which must come from a source that can be used at trial. He expects a long day, and he finds a little restaurant where he indulges in a solid, full English breakfast in order to keep up his strength.

His first stop is the flat of Mary Jansen. She lets him in but does not offer him any tea or coffee. Lewis suspects she has none to offer.

"Miss Jansen, I have some more questions I need to ask you. I'm sorry to be such a nuisance. Though I must say, I don't mind coming back to talk to you again." He gives her an ambiguous look, one that _might_ be considered a bit lecherous.

"Oh, aye, yeh've come back without yer partner, then?" She sits close to him. Again, the predator's eyes.

"That's right. He can be . . . a bit of a hindrance sometimes. Seems to think coppers work by some straight-line rules."

"Ain't that th' case, then?"

"Naw, the best policing is done by instinct."

"An' what does yer instinct tell yeh?"

She slides a hand up his thigh, brushing his genitals through his trousers as though by accident. Lewis knows it's no accident, and knows there's no danger of him reacting to her touch. He finds her utterly repellant. But he needs information from her, so he feigns interest.

"Mmm. Let's see, me instincts tell me I better be careful or I'll forget what I came here for, right?" He winks at her.

"Tha's alright, then. Mebbe yeh came for another reason, anyway." She strokes him again, this time purposefully.

He pushes her hand away, no longer trusting his baser biological reactions. "Not now. Maybe later. I have a couple of things I need to find out, first."

She is angered by his resistance, and crosses her bony arms over her chest. "I won't tell you nothin'."

Lewis ignores her bravado. "You had a child, didn't you? A boy? When Sergeant Hathaway and I came to see you the first time, there were boy's things tucked in out-of-the-way places here. What happened to him, Mary?"

Her bottom lip juts out, like that of a pouting toddler. Lewis realizes that, in truth, she is not much older than a child.

"I told you both the truth. I never had no kid."

"You're lying, Mary. That makes me very unhappy."

"I am _not_ lying. I don't know where you got that stupid idea, but it's . . . stupid."

From his pocket, he pulls out a photograph of the dead child.

"Would you deny this? Mary?"

She gasps at the image. "Wha's wrong with him? He's not sleepin', is he? He looks . . ."

Lewis finishes the sentence for her. "Dead. Yes, he's dead."

She bursts into tears, sobbing despite her efforts not to. "The poor little thing!"

Lewis is untouched. "We know this was Mark Flannery's boy. You had sex with Flannery the day he was killed, didn't you?"

"_No!_ I hadn't seen him in ages, not since he stopped paying support."

Lewis snorts. "You're still lying, Mary, you're not very good at it. Try again."

"I'm _not_ lying!" She is breathing hard now. She scowls at Lewis, but he doesn't flinch. "Well, look, I'm not lying that I didn't have sex with him. He came around in this crap car. He used to have that lovely little Mercedes. So I didn't recognize his car, or I wouldn't have talked to him. But I didn't shag him, I'm done with him. I walked away and left him parked there with his cock in his hand."

She glares, and her look is surprisingly hard. "I hate That Bastard; he promised to take care of me and his son, and he totally failed to do that. Look at me. How is this being 'taken care of?'"

Lewis turns on a gentler persona. "Where is your son, Mary? Is this him in the photograph? What happened to him?"

She won't say. And all Lewis can do is leave, frustrated. It is clear she was hoping for more from him, either something physical or something monetary. Most likely both. But all Lewis has is an admission of sorts and no new real information, so he is not inclined to provide either sort of reward for her.

He heads for what he guesses is her local. It's nearby, dirty, dark, cheap, and the kind of place where no one asks awkward questions. He intends to ask a few, but he knows he looks rough, not having shaved in two days, and hopes he passes for an ordinary resident of these streets.

He buys himself a pint of the beer he calculates is least likely to resemble pure piss. And then he buys another. And another.

At last he strikes up a conversation with the landlord, and then begins to ask some questions. His scruffy appearance, three pints under the belt, Geordie accent, and blue-collar demeanor help dispel the suspicions of the landlord and fellow drinkers in a relatively short period of time. He learns over the course of the afternoon (and several more pints) that everyone knew Mary Jansen sold off her boy when Flannery stopped paying her support. Lewis does not show them the photograph, but a few people confirm the boy in the television appeal was her son. The landlord informs Lewis that Mary found a home for him through the services of a woman known as Jane Coker, who acts as an adoption broker for the local prostitutes. No one is certain this is her real name, but they tell him where to find her when he explains his own need to "take care of" the unexpected and undesired pregnancy of his mistress, Laura.

Lewis has only minimal trouble locating Jane Coker, and they conduct their business back in the pub. Before attempting to negotiate a price, Lewis questions Jane about her placement skills.

"See, it's still me bairn, even though I'm not in the sort of position to take care o' it meself. But we want to be certain that it's well loved wherever it ends up, like. It's kind o' the last thing I can do for it. Make sure it's gone to a real nice family."

"I thoroughly vet the applicants I get, Mister Lowe. Your child will be loved, and cared for."

"The thing is, like, I'd heard that one of your recent adoptees didn't last more than a day or two. There was a wee lad, Mary Jansen's boy, I'm told, that was found froze to death an' all alone." He closes his eyes for dramatic effect. "I'd hate to think of such a fate befallin' me own bairn."

She is silent a moment, and crosses herself. _Roman Catholic!_ Lewis thinks through his beery haze. _Of course. Adoption as an alternative to abortion_.

"Okay, I admit I brokered the Jansen boy, and sent him to what I thought was a nice and responsible couple. How could I know they would turn out to be totally incompetent at child-raising? They provided top references. It's the first time something like this has happened."

Although he doesn't believe her, "Mr. Lowe" nods knowingly and states that he'll likely contact her as soon as the child is born. "She's only twenty weeks now. No telling what could happen." He winks at her. "Now, what about the erm . . . y'know. How much?"

"Fifteen hundred."

Lewis appears to think. "Okay."

"All of it in cash. Don't try anything funny."

"Wha—fifteen hundred from _me?_ I thought _you_ paid _me_ for the baby. Mary Jansen never paid you fifteen hundred quid!"

"No, of course not. She was helping me out, providing a child when I needed one. In your case, Mister Lowe, I'm helping you out of an awkward and potentially expensive situation. Who pays depends on who is getting the service. I don't _buy_ babies."

He firms his mouth. No arguing with her business sense. "Fine. Can I find you here in another couple months?"

"Absolutely, guv! I'm always here."

Lewis buys them both another round, and after sipping from his, he studies the table top.

"Miss Coker, can I ask you something about the local constabulary?" His tongue stumbles over the last word; he's had a skinful, no doubt about that.

She drapes her arm over his shoulder. "Handsome, you can ask me anything."

He chuckles. _Get a hold of yourself, man, you're six sheets to the wind and need to be at the top of your game despite that._

"There's a couple of police officers that hang around here. Wilder and Flannery. They bin givin' me a bit of a rough time when I'm out lookin' for . . . y'know, female companionship. Are they bastards, or what?"

She chuckles. Her voice is deep, throaty, and Lewis finds it unexpectedly attractive.

"Yeah, Wilder and Flannery. Flannery's dead now, don'tcha know? They were a pair, though, roughing up the neighborhood, running the place. They could plant drugs or evidence on you, and down you'd go. Generally, you'd get off but only so many times. They took a whack from anyone who wanted to conduct, eh, . . . _unlicensed business_ down this way. Just give them a bit o' your pocket change and they'd leave you be. Price o' doin' business."

"They were both bad? Seemed like Flannery was the worst. And y'say he's met his maker, an' all."

"Well, depends on what yeh mean by 'bad.' Flannery couldn't keep his cock in his trousers to save his life. I've farmed out several of his kids, and in exchange, I was virtually guaranteed no interference in my various business enterprises. It was whatcha might call a 'mutually beneficial relationship.'"

Lewis appears to contemplate this. In truth, he is doing all he can to simply retain the bits she has told him, without losing them in far too much beer.

"D'you mind if I double-check what you've told me with the adoptive parents of Mary's lad? It would ease me worries."

She pats him on the arm and tells him the name of the adoptive parents. "Maybe they'd like to have your little one, provided it's a boy. They very much wanted a little boy."

"Ah, no, I don't think so."

Lewis reels from the pub, and makes his way down a dingy alley. He forces himself to puke up as much beer as he can, then finds a little coffee shop where he buys himself a cup of coffee. In a trip to the shop's loo, he splashes cold water on his face. He feels minimally more sober than he did an hour before. It's the best he can do for now.

He tracks down the address Jane gave him for the adoptive parents of the dead boy. Although they have nothing bad to say about Jane Coker, they are very cagey about the dodgy origins of their adoptee. English is not their first language; Lewis gathers it is, in fact, something that possibly uses the Cyrillic alphabet. Nonetheless, he is able to get them to admit that they gave the boy some sleeping pills.

"He was cry all the time. Cry because he missing his mummy. We feed, we kiss, we hold. But no change, he still cry. We put him in his bed. He still cry, ask to go home. We give him the tablets. The ones that to make you sleep and then we go to sleep also. Then we find he leave away when we sleep."

"Didn't you see the appeal on the telly for information about him?"

"We see it . . . what you call 'appeal,' but we are too afraid of telling out. Police think we did something bad, maybe we go to jail?"

Lewis doesn't see much point in pursuing the matter further. These people have lost their "son", lost the money they paid to Coker for the lad, and had no evil intent in the way they handled the boy. Criminal negligence, maybe, but he's not in any position to charge them with anything. Saddened by what he has learned during the day, Lewis makes his way home by bus, stumbles into his flat, and immediately falls asleep on the settee.


	9. Hathaway On His Own

"Mornin' guv, how'd the press conference go?" Hathaway scowls. Hooper seems eternally cheery. _Maybe it's his voice_.

James rolls his eyes as an answer.

"I 'eard this thing with the boss was a stitch-up by someone in Thames Valley, not Wiltshire. I thought it would've been those West Country lads. Mad sense o' humor, them, y'know. Does the boss 'ave any theories on 'oo would want 'im off the case, like?"

"He has an idea or two about who doesn't like him these days. But only he and I have keys to the boot of his car. And neither of us put the drugs in there."

Hooper frowns. "Y'mean, except for the lads in Motor Pool, right?"

"Motor Pool?"

"Oh, aye, they have keys to all the pool cars. Didn't y' know that? I can check on that if y'like."

"Yeah, that'd be great." Hathaway stares at the work in front of him without seeing it. He'd wondered if the Wiltshire cops had somehow planted the drugs themselves. But now it looked more plausible that someone within their own stationhouse might well be responsible. And that fit with the rest of the theory, that someone was deliberately trying to get them both off the case.

"Hathaway, do you have a minute?" James looks up from the flurry of sticky notes covering the stacks of paper that are currently smothering his desk.

"Ma'am?"

Innocent enters the office and closes the door behind herself. "I wanted to let you know I think you handled yourself well at the press conference. It got a little warm in there, don't you agree?"

"Thank you, Ma'am. I imagine I won't even recognize myself in tonight's papers. They _want_ to distort it, don't they?"

"Well, not always. As long as the real story is juicy enough to sell papers, they'll leave it alone. The problem is each reporter always wants his own version to be the juiciest."

She pauses a moment, then continues. "I also wanted to let you know that, despite whatever ill treatment Lewis expects from me, I _am_ trying to help him. I contacted an old friend at the Wiltshire constabulary. It turns out that they were specially alerted to possibility of drugs in the boot of Lewis's car."

"Alerted? By whom?"

"All it said in their record was 'Thames Valley' notified them to watch out for his car, gave the registration and everything. And they were told what motorway he'd be using, and when."

James scowls at this information. "How did they know that? Someone was watching him?"

She taps her teeth with a fingernail. "If I were trying to investigate this, which I'm not, I'd speculate that Flannery's sister was not as cooperative as she appeared to be. She could have called Wiltshire as soon as Lewis left."

Hathaway stares at the wall without speaking. Regina Flannery could have phoned in Lewis's actions, but she couldn't have been the one to plant the drugs.

There is a quiet knock and the door opens. "Sarge? Oh, mornin' Ma'am. Am I interruptin'?"

"No, Hooper, it's fine. What do you need?"

"I checked with the lads in Motor Pool. Looks like there was some kind of a mix-up the other day. The slot for Lewis's key 'ad some other one 'angin' there, 'n' 'is key can't be found. It's missin'. No record of anyone takin' it."

Innocent's eyes go from one man to the other. "What is this, you think someone from _here_ set up Lewis?"

"Well, Ma'am, it's possible. This investigation isn't very popular with the folks in Local Policing."

"Oh, no you don't, Hathaway. You be very careful about accusing fellow officers. I've already warned you about not focusing on Wilder. Those boys were good policemen. You'd better be one hundred percent certain you're right before you say anything of that nature."

"'Good' meaning what? Effective? 'Cos I'm not seeing any evidence that they were good men."

"Yes, effective. Good at their jobs."

"A high arrest rate isn't the same thing as good policing, Ma'am. In my view."

"And why not? Effective policing makes the streets safer, and that, Sergeant, is what policing is all about."

"But not if it means individuals are arrested without regard to their rights."

Hooper rolls his eyes. Innocent narrows hers. Hathaway looks genially from one to the other. "If that's all for now, I have a lot of work to do here."

Hooper scuttles away, and Innocent shakes her head. "Be. Certain. Understood, Sergeant?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

* * *

It takes several knocks on the window before Hathaway sees Lewis stirring from where he lies, face down, on the settee. He blinks blearily, and at last traces the sound to where James is peering in at him. He rights himself and then totters to the door where he buzzes the lock open for James to come in.

"I brought beer. But maybe you don't want any. You look as though you already spent the day drinking."

"Yeah, that's about right. I was off chasing the dregs of the city all day." He belches. "Ugh, pardon me. Nasty beer, that. Hang on."

He makes his way into the bathroom and Hathaway can hear the sounds of tooth brushing. Soon Lewis returns to the front room, looking a bit more refreshed. "That's better. I think I'll pass on having any more though."

He tells Hathaway about his travels and encounters of the day. The tale feels as sad and sordid as it did when it had happened, and the two men are silent when he finishes relating about the foreign couple who lost their newly-'adopted' boy. Hathaway notes to himself that Lewis has been careful not to reveal the name of the couple, or that of the baby broker.

Hathaway takes a pull of his beer. "I have to say, Sir, I find it a bit alarming that you've gone out and done all this investigating without having any legal authority to do so. It might have been better had you passed the information back to me to properly interview members of the public."

Lewis checks to see if Hathaway realizes how fussed he sounds. _Nope_. "Look, man, you would have gotten nowhere with these people. I only was able to learn what I learned by going in there with two days' stubble and putting away several pints of really awful beer. Not something anyone on the job could have done."

Hathaway's mouth tightens.

"Look, I know you can't touch Wilder, but you've got to get at what Flannery was up to. Innocent has to let you dig into Wilder once there's proof Flannery was using illegal methods to clean up the streets."

James blows out his cheeks. "I'll do what I can without attracting her attention."

The older man sighs. "Kind of . . . what d'y'call it? 'ironic'? that our own guv'nor can be such an obstacle to an investigation." It's implied that he means both the murder inquiry and his private investigation into his drugs charge.

"Actually, Sir, she's been doing a bit of investigating on her own into that Wiltshire incident. She found out they'd been alerted to the drugs in your car that evening. They were even told where to find you."

"You're joking!"

"No, I'm not. And Hooper poked his nose into the Motor Pool and found out they have a key for your car. Well, for everyone's, in fact. But yours has gone missing."

"Bloody hell. It _was_ one of ours, then. Stitching me up to get me off the case. God, I could get put away for a couple of years, if the worst happens. Wouldn't that be a lark?" He looks up, curiously. "_Hooper_ did that bit?"

"Yeah, he seems very loyal to you, Sir. I don't think he'd be doing anything for me if it wasn't for the fact that you might be back on the case at some point."

Lewis reflects on that a while. "Well, Hooper. Who'd have thought." Then he turns more businesslike. "Hathaway, I think you need to bring Mary Jansen in. Interfering with a police investigation and all. She saw Flannery that night, maybe you can shake loose a memory or two. And . . ." he unsuccessfully suppresses a huge yawn. "Oh, sorry. I think I need to get to bed. That beer probably has put all kinds of toxins running through me veins. If I'm found dead in the morning, blame the Black Swan."

"What, no 'chess lesson' tonight?"

The only response is a glare.

* * *

Having ordered Flannery's bank account records, Hathaway is trying to organize the paperwork on his desk. _The thing with Lewis being off is not only am I doing all his work, I'm also still doing all of mine._ His train of thought is interrupted by a quiet throat-clearing in the office doorway. Hooper stands there, uncharacteristically subdued.

"Hooper? You want to come in?"

Hooper steps forward and closes the office door. He clears his throat again, this time a bit more loudly. Hathaway feels somewhat impatient. His paperwork is going nowhere.

"Yes?"

"Sarge, I know you an' me, we don't always get along, like. You bein' all university educated an' all that. And I pretty much get along better with the real workin' blokes here, y'know? The DCs, some of the PCs even. An' they all know 'ow I feel about university boys comin' in on the fast track an' all." He pauses, worry creasing his brow.

Hathaway nods encouragingly. "That's alright, Hooper, a lot of the lads feel the same way, I know about that."

He looks a little more relieved. "So I think they figure I'm more one of them than one of you officer-types, y'know? Which I am, really. Well, to get to the point, I was gettin' a coffee with a couple of them, and don't ask me t' name names, but they were laughin' about 'ow one of the Local boys was in on the stitch-up of the boss. Not Wilder, but one o' 'is mates is the one what put the drugs in the boss's car. They kept it out of inventory after a big raid last month. Then 'e swipes the boss's key from Motor Pool, see, and lays the package in there, neat as y'please."

"_Who_, Hooper? I need to know who."

"I'm not a grass, Sarge, these men trust me."

"Inspector Lewis trusts you, too. He could be in the nick for _years_ if we can't clear him."

It is obvious that Hooper feels like he's betraying a fellow officer for telling Hathaway. But when he realizes what Lewis might be facing without his help, he gives in. "Look, don't let on 'ow you know, okay? It was Gahan. Jerry Gahan's the one what put the drugs in the car. An' Gahan's datin' Flannery's sister, see? So when she called 'im an' told 'im the boss 'ad been at 'er place, Gahan calls the information in to Wiltshire."

"Ah, Gahan. He's quite spineless, isn't he? We ought to be able to get a confession out of him pretty easily. I won't reveal my source, Hooper. Unless I have to."

"_Sir!_"

James raises his eyebrows at the unusual show of respect. "Don't worry, man. Your connections are invaluable. I'll do everything I can to keep them intact."

"I 'ope so, Sir." He turns for the door.

"Hooper! Thank you."

Hathaway immediately heads down the corridor to the Chief Super's office.

"Sergeant? What is it now?"

"Ma'am, I have a bit of information that I believe will prove useful."

As Hathaway predicted, Gahan readily confesses. But he refuses to share the blame with anyone else, repeatedly stating that the whole thing was his idea alone, and that he was showing solidarity with Wilder, whom he clearly perceives as persecuted by CID. He repeats his confession in the presence of Chief Superintendent Stroner, and Innocent gloats all the way back to her office.

"Well done, Sergeant. I don't know what will happen to PC Gahan, but doubtless Lewis's charges will be dropped. I'd say he owes you a beer at least."

"So I'm back to reporting to Lewis?"

"Until it's all official, Hathaway, you're still the OIC as far as I'm concerned. And I'm still looking for those reports you have on your desk."

Hathaway returns to his office and stares at the piles of paper on his desk. None of it will get him closer to solving the case. With a sigh of resignation, he puts on his overcoat and heads out the door.

With a pair of PCs, Hathaway arrives at Mary Jansen's flat to arrest her for interfering with a police investigation. Repeated banging on the door brings no answer. The PCs look around warily. It is clear they are not comfortable here and want to leave. But where would Mary go in the middle of the day? Hathaway has a bad feeling about this.

"Right. Break the door down."

"Sir? What if she's only stepped down to her local for lunch?"

"She has no money for lunch. Bash it in."

It doesn't take Hathaway long to sprint through the tiny flat. "Mary? Mary Jansen?" He finds her in the bathroom, unmoving, a half-empty bottle of pills on the floor next to her.

"Oh, God, no. Get an ambulance!" One of the PCs is already on his radio, doing exactly that. Hathaway bends over her, checks for a pulse, clears her mouth, takes a deep breath, and performs mouth-to-mouth on her, despite his misgivings about where her lips have been. After a short while, she gasps and flails her arms. Hathaway sits back on his heels, suddenly exhausted. A strong hand lands on his shoulder.

"Good work, mate. Now let us do our job, alright?"

The ambulance workers take over, and Hathaway offers a silent prayer of thanks, satisfied that Mary Jansen will live.


	10. A Break in the Case

When he gets back to the office, Hathaway rings up Lewis on his mobile.

"Good afternoon, Sir. Feeling better than yesterday?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine now. Got out of bed about twenty minutes ago. Nothin' to do today but see if me car is where I left it. What have you been up to?"

Hathaway tells him of the episode with Mary Jansen. "She's still unconscious, so we haven't charged her with anything yet, and obviously can't question her. In short, I've hit a dead end at this point. I've gotten Flannery's bank records, and he has way too much money coming in, but starting six months ago, a lot of it started going back out. He was down to nothing, pretty much, at least that he kept. He must have been paying out to someone. But even if we know Flannery was dirty, so what? How does that tell us who killed him?"

"Alright, calm down, Hathaway. Who else have we got? What about Flannery's wife? She wasn't getting any payoffs from him, in more than one sense."

Hathaway considers this approach. "What if Flannery was paying money to a _new_ woman? The one with the unidentified DNA? And that was just too much for Mrs. Flannery and she offed him in a fit of anger?"

Lewis exhales loudly. "In my experience, not many women kill in a fit of anger. Not when she's likely been simmering for years. Still, I wouldn't dismiss that idea out of hand. But I'd say it's unlikely."

The line falls silent as both men think for a while. "Look, Hathaway . . . can we check Wilder's bank account without stirring up trouble? I'd bet there's a correlation between the dwindling of Flannery's account and the swelling of Wilder's."

"No. No way. Innocent will skewer me if she finds I'm looking at Wilder at all."

Lewis snorts. "Do it anyway, Mister Oh-I-See. Do it so she doesn't find out. You've got to bring Wilder down, you _know_ he's behind something here."

"Okay, let me get that going on the other phone. If Innocent calls me on it, I'm totally blaming you."

"Fine, she's already suspended me, I can take the heat. Wouldn't be the first time."

Hathaway fiddles with his desk phone, eventually sighing in frustration as he reaches the third level in the bank's phone message tree.

"Look, it's going to take a while here. I'll ring you back, alright?"

Hathaway turns to finishing some of the reports on his desk as he waits for results from the bank.

He is still working on those reports two hours later, when the doorway of his office is darkened, and his ears assaulted.

"Hathaway! What the _hell_ do you think you're doing? Requesting PC Wilder's bank records? This has Lewis's hand in it, I know it can't be all your own doing!" She is red-faced and out of breath, her energetic exhales making a few stray hairs fly away in time to her breaths. "Did you think I would simply _not care_ that you continue to investigate a fellow officer I have specifically told you not to investigate, or did you think I wouldn't find out?"

Hathaway steels himself. "Erm, I'd have to say, the latter Ma'am. I really did not expect you to know. How _did _you find out?"

"Honestly, I do have a connection or two. It's required if you plan to advance to the level of Chief Superintendent. Which is why Inspector Lewis will never achieve that rank. I insist that this ridiculous persecution of Tony Wilder stops NOW."

But at that moment, Hathaway's phone rings, the LCD indicating the caller is from the bank.

Already in trouble, Hathaway risks a bit of cheek. "Would you hold that thought a moment, Ma'am?" Hathaway takes the call and listens attentively to what he is being told. He thanks the speaker, checks his email, and clicks on a new, incoming message from the bank, complete with Wilder's account records.

Innocent fumes at being first sassed and then ignored, but she can see the change in Hathaway's expression as he scans the data from the bank.

"Look here, Ma'am, Wilder's account took a big jump starting about six months ago. Right about the time Flannery's account was going down, Wilder's was going up." He scans further.

"Whoa, look at this!" He clicks on one entry in Flannery's account. "Flannery's account goes down five hundred pounds on twenty-three March, cheque number fifty-five-sixteen. Wilder's account goes _up_ five hundred pounds the same day: 'Deposit, cheque number fifty-five-sixteen.' Flannery was paying Wilder off!"

Innocent squints at the screen and the scans of several of Flannery's checks for a very long time. At last, she steps back. "Bring him in."

* * *

Wilder is not a model suspect. Most of the time, he won't talk. When he does, he's very surly, and vaguely threatens Hathaway. It is clear that Lewis was right about some of his hunches, including that Wilder knew about Flannery's misdeeds and was cutting in on his income. But Wilder admits nothing, not even when Innocent interviews him. They are no closer to resolution, and they've seriously offended Chief Superintendent Stroner, despite their evidence.

Innocent sits in Lewis's chair, head in hands, while Hathaway, feet propped on his desk, rechecks the bank records.

"To be honest, Sergeant, I don't know that this is enough to charge him. Let's hang on to him for now and see if you can get one of the good citizens of his territory to testify against him."

Hathaway groans. "Those 'good citizens' are Inspector Lewis's specialty, Ma'am, not mine."

"I realize that, Hathaway, but Inspector Lewis isn't on the case at the moment, and our time is ticking away for holding Wilder."

She jumps when her mobile rings, and takes the call without leaving the office.

"Chief Superintendent Innocent . . . Yes? . . . Yes, I'm aware of that . . . Oh, brilliant, that is very good news! . . . Yes, thank you."

She clicks off and smiles broadly at Hathaway. "That was CPS. Charges against Lewis are officially dropped." Still smiling, she clicks a few buttons on her mobile.

"Yes, Inspector. I thought you would like to know that CPS officially dismissed the charges against you. I would like you to return to work first thing tomorrow. You are no longer on suspension."

She rings off and studies Hathaway. "You're in charge at least until tomorrow. After that, we'll see how Inspector Lewis feels about letting you continue. See if Hooper and some of the other boys can find someone from Wilder's turf. If not, I'll order Lewis to get down there first thing in the morning."

* * *

With a bag full of Chinese take-away in one hand, and a bag full of beer in the other, Hathaway has to hit Lewis's door buzzer with his elbow.

"Yeah?"

"Dinner's here."

The lock clicks and Hathaway elbows the door open. Lewis is standing in the doorway to his flat, smiling broadly.

"I'm not interrupting anything am I, Sir? Only, I saw Doctor Hobson's car parked out front."

"It's _chess_, Hathaway, exactly as I told you. Now get in here and get some of those beers opened up. I hope you brought enough for three."

Laura looks up from the chessboard as he enters. "Ah, Hathaway with the food!"

Lewis smiles wryly. "You're just in time, man, I'm ready to jack this game in. She's too bloody competitive to let us win. Doesn't matter how bruised me ego might be."

Hathaway comes over and scans the board, thinking.

"There's one move you can make that can get you out of this, Sir."

"Yeah? Wait, don't tell me."

Lewis studies the board forever, raising his hand every now and then as though to move a piece, then letting it fall back into his lap.

"Don't tell him, James. If he can't see it for himself, he deserves to lose."

"I wasn't going to tell him. And anyway, he doesn't always trust me."

"I had one lapse of faith, alright?" Suddenly, Lewis's eyes flare and snap to the board. "Faith! That's it!" He snatches up his king's bishop and slides it two squares diagonally. "Hah! Checkmate, I think."

"Damn! That's the first time you've won. You two _are_ a good team."

"Very good, Sir."

Grinning broadly, Lewis sweeps the pieces into their box and puts the chess set away. They fall on the food like three ravenous vultures. Or rather, two ravenous vultures and one very tall vulture who insists on using chopsticks. When they are at last sated, they sit back, sipping their beers. Lewis picks at his teeth with the tine of his fork.

"Sir, I know you think it has to be Wilder. But it makes no sense to kill the goose that lays the golden egg. Say Wilder was in on the shakedowns, and apparently he not only knew about that but was earning a fair amount off his beloved partner as well. So why kill Flannery? It makes no sense. It has to be one of the women."

Lewis shakes his head. "But, same problem there, they had been getting money out of him. They'd have to realize that if they killed him, they'd never get anything more."

Laura is thinking. "What about one of the local drug dealers?"

Hathaway shakes his head. "Hooper said his sources are reliable and they tell him all the drug dealers are as much in the dark as we are about Flannery's death. Only, they're happier about it."

Lewis sniffs dismissively. "Hooper's instincts have been unusually good on this case. It must have something to do with Wilder."

James leans forward, starting to get aggressive now. "No, it must have to do with a _woman_."

Laura rolls her eyes at the posturing that only seems to escalate the hostilities. "Now boys, quit bickering. You two are about as romantic as a shoehorn. Why can't you _both_ be right? What if Wilder killed him in a fight over a woman?"

They both stare at her, and then their eyes slowly shift and lock on each other as the same thought hits them at the same time. Lewis voices it.

"Not just any woman. What if Flannery started having it away with Jenny Wilder, as paybacks for Wilder's having ruined him financially? When I talked to Jenny that time we went out to their place, I got the distinct impression that she was not of the same social class as her husband. I could see her going for Flannery, he's more her type than Wilder."

"That's right, she came on to you with a fair amount of lust, as I recall. Didn't she?"

Hobson turns to look at Lewis, her expression full of curiosity. His ears turn crimson.

"Yeah, she was kind of a flirt."

"What happened when you two disappeared into the kitchen, anyway? You were certainly blushing when you returned. Did she snog you?"

"No! I just helped her with the tea things, and she . . . erm, indicated I might be a good catch." His whole face is red by now. "Anyway, you're getting off the point, Hathaway."

Hobson smirks. "She sounds like a smart woman. What makes you think she didn't do in that bastard Flannery herself?"

Lewis comes very close to answering before he spots the wind-up. Instead he rolls his eyes at her, chuckling a little.

"Now, Laura, you know how women love us working-class louts."

Hathaway twists a crooked smile. "I hate to interrupt the verbal foreplay, but why don't we go ask her right now? Innocent said you were being reinstated."

"Yeah, but not officially until tomorrow. I wouldn't want to act contrary to authority."

Hathaway snorts. "Since when?" Then his expression fills with awareness. "Oh, you have plans for the evening. More chess, is it?"

"Cheeky sod! Yeah, _chess_. And I'm not doing any more legwork for Innocent on me own time, alright? Morning is soon enough, Sergeant."

Hathaway can see that he is rapidly fading from the attention of either of the other two. "Okay, morning it is. See you then, Sir. Good night, Doctor."

After James is gone, Lewis turns to Laura, his eyes mischievous. "'As romantic as a shoehorn,' eh?" He goes to a drawer and pulls one out, one of the longer models that can be used while standing up. Holding it by the blade, he waves the knobbed handle in her face and arches his eyebrows. "Don't tell me a creative pair of lovers couldn't think of a romantic use for this."

"Robbie!"


	11. The Evidence They Need

Both detectives arrive early the next morning. Hathaway tracks down Hooper, who tells him that he and the other DCs scoured the streets of St. Clements and St. Mary's and found that, while many residents could testify about the financial abuse conducted by PC Flannery, none witnessed Wilder participating directly in that activity.

"We've drawn a blank, then."

"Yes, boss." Hooper frowns, suddenly puzzled. "Or are you not the boss any more?"

Hathaway purses his lips. "You know, I'm not sure."

He returns to the office, where Lewis is reading up on what transpired in his absence. "Sir, Hooper asked me if I'm still 'boss' on this case."

"Good question. Do you want to be?"

"Well, yeah, of course."

"Fine. You steer and I'll let you know when you get too close to the cliff. Alright?"

Hathaway scowls. "You sure you'll be able to resist overriding my orders every ten minutes, even if they're wrong?"

Lewis twists a smile. "Look, Hathaway. I taught me son how to drive, alright? So I know when to shut up, close me eyes, and hold on, and when to grab the steering wheel. I don't see this as being very different from that."

James considers this. "How many tries did it take him to pass the exam?"

"Four. But don't worry, you have more aptitude than he does."

"Thank you, Sir."

"So what's next, Sergeant?"

"Jenny Wilder."

"Alright, let's go pay a visit to Missus Wilder."

She welcomes the two detectives into her home. More than welcomes, in fact. She is wearing a low-cut knit top that well displays her ample and shapely bosom, and she bends and twists in a way that displays that feature to the greatest benefit.

"Well, Inspector. I thought I might be seein' you again. That makes me _very_ happy." She draws a lacquered fingernail along Lewis's jawbone.

Hathaway realizes for the first time how attractive she is, physically. Not only is she well-endowed, but all her other features are just about perfect, in his view. _Why does she seem to have a thing for Lewis?_

She readily admits to having had an affair with Mark Flannery. "It started when Tony an' me were over at the Flannerys' house. It was obvious that Meaghan scorned him, just as Tony treated me as more of an ornament than a wife. Mark and me were, y'know, like kindred souls and it didn't take long for us to discover we were _very_ compatible in bed." She gazes at Lewis in a frankly assessing way. "You remind me a lot of him." Her voice is husky.

Lewis snorts. "I'm not especially happy to be compared to him, I'm afraid. We've learned that he wasn't behaving as a proper cop should. That doesn't surprise you, does it?"

"Aw, no, I knew all about his monkey business. So did Tony. He got sick of Mark havin' money all the time, so he decided he needed to help himself to a little piece o' that particular pie. I think that's why Mark decided _he_ needed a piece o' _this_ particular pie." She gestures to herself, slightly brushing her breasts and smiling at Lewis.

"It was a shame, really. Mark and Tony had been mates, y'know? And this money thing drove them apart. They ended up hating each other, but stuck together as partners for appearances' sake."

Hathaway clears his throat, as though ensuring that Jenny remembers he's still present. "Are you willing to testify against your husband, Mrs. Wilder?"

"Yeah, absolutely. Y'mean about him blackmailing Mark, or about him killing Mark?"

The two detectives stare at each other, stunned. Hathaway is the first to recover. "All of it, Ma'am. What can you tell us about the killing?"

"Well, Mark was over at here that night, y'know. Tony was out at . . . oh, that pub over by the Sheldonian." She looks to Lewis for help.

"The White Horse?"

"Yeah! You know it?"

He nods toward Hathaway. "We go there after work sometimes on a Friday."

"Yeah, it's nice, I like it."

Hathaway clears his throat again. "You were saying, Mrs. Wilder, that Mark was here and Tony was not?"

"Yeah, sorry. Me an' Mark were foolin' around in the bedroom. He had his police baton thing with him. We were . . . you could say we were 'experimenting' with it in bed." She winks. "Well, Tony came home sooner than we expected and he nearly caught us. We heard his car in the drive and were able to get decent but I think he knew somethin' had been goin' on. Mark left, sayin' he had a few stops to make. Tony started yellin' at me, accusin' me o' sleeping with Mark. He didn't have any proof, so I denied it at first. But he kept arguin' an' he was bein' a real prick so I told him, yeah, we'd been havin' an affair for months. Then he really got angry and he stormed out."

Lewis looks up from his notepad. "Did he say where he was going?"

"Nah, but I had the impression he was goin' to find Mark and have it out with him. He came back about two hours later. I was up in our room, but I heard him doing something out in the garden so I peeked out. It looked like he was buryin' somethin'."

Hathaway furrows his brow. "Burying something? Did you ever go look to see if he had?"

She shakes her head. "I never went to see. Tony's been acting a bit mad since then, and I'm kinda afraid of him now. Anyway, I heard him come in and then I heard the shower goin'. After that stopped, I heard him start a load of washin'. That was very unusual, he always made me do that kinda work. I did check up on that later; he had washed the clothes he had been wearin' when we argued."

"What happened after you heard him start the washing?"

"I pretended to be asleep. He came in and climbed into bed and that was that. We never talked about it or mentioned our row again."

Hathaway inhales. "When you learned of Flannery's death, did your husband's actions that night take on a new meaning?"

"Oh, yeah. I mean, at the time, I just thought he was actin' weird. But when I heard about Mark bein' killed, well, I assumed Tony had killed him, buried the weapon, and then washed the blood off himself and his clothes."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Well, it was all speculation on my part, and no one ever asked me."

Lewis rolls his eyes. _I hate it when they say that_.

They get a DNA swab from her and then go out to the garden. Under Jenny's direction, they find signs of recent spadework and soon dig up an ASP, retracted and in its holder. "Ah, that's what happened to it." Lewis watches as Hathaway places it carefully in a bag. "Off to forensics with that."

On the way back to the office, Hathaway drums his fingers on the dash.

"Sergeant, what?"

"Well, Jenny told us a lot of useful information. But CPS won't be able to use her testimony about what Flannery said because it's hearsay. And they won't be able to use her testimony about what Wilder said because of marital privilege. So what does that leave them, for trial?"

"That's CPS's problem. Anyway, with the weapon found in his own garden, I think we have a solid case."

They drive in silence for a while. Lewis glances to his left every now and then, knowing that Hathaway is working something over in his mind. Eventually, he cannot tolerate the suspense.

"Say it, Sergeant."

"Say what?"

"Whatever it is you're stewing about. It's something, I can tell."

Hathaway stares out through the windscreen. "How is it, Sir, that you have all these women falling all over themselves for your attention? I mean, Hobson, fine, but also Jenny Wilder, and you said both the baby broker and Mary Jansen came on to you."

"Hobson doesn't fall all over herself for me, and Mary Jansen's a prostitute, she was only trying to conduct business."

"Fine, forget her. What about the others?"

"Well, why wouldn't they? If I'm their type, I mean."

"Their _type?_ I mean, look at you, you're—" _No good way to end that sentence_.

"Go ahead, try to hurt me feelings. I'm _what_, Sergeant, were you going to say?"

"A munter. Sir."

Lewis snorts. "Oh, nice. You may not find me physically beautiful, Hathaway, but not all women are as superficial as you are. Some of them find a friendly manner and a good heart more attractive than youthful good looks."

Hathaway snorts derisively.

"You don't believe me? Well, what's your theory, then?"

"Maybe they can sense how desperate you are."

"Maybe they can sense how much experience I have in the sack."

Hathaway snorts again.

"More likely they find you attractive because you pose no sexual threat. You're safe."

"No, Sergeant, that's why _you_ find me attractive." Lewis grins.

"And here I thought it was your keen wit."

* * *

Hooper whistles softly as Hathaway adds the notes to the incident board. "Wilder's own wife grassin' on him. You and boss must have a way with women."

"Well, one of us seems to, at least." Hathaway hands him the evidence bags. "Get these over to forensics. Fingerprints and DNA on this, and run DNA on the swab. It's Jenny Wilder's. I expect we'll find she was the unidentified woman with whom Flannery had sex the night he died."

"One woman for both partners, what an interesting idea." Hooper winks at Hathaway, and scoots from the room.

Hathaway is happy to hand over the reins to Lewis for Wilder's interview. He stands behind Lewis's chair at the interview table as Lewis begins the questioning.

"Well, Tony, we had a little chat with your wife this morning. It was most revealing."

Wilder sneers. "'Revealing'? You mean she showed you her tits? She's had the hots for you since you showed up last Sunday."

"She certainly had the hots for Mark Flannery, didn't she?"

Wilder snorts, and says nothing.

"You're the jealous type, aren't you, Tony? I saw it the day we were there and she paid me a bit too much attention."

Silence.

"A'course, I s'pose I'd be jealous too, good-looking wife like that. She's got those lovely . . . assets." Lewis cups his hands. It is obvious which assets he's referring to.

Wilder says nothing, but his face reddens.

"And I s'pose it's only natural for you to think every man who spends a minute or two alone with her is dippin' his wick. Who knows what happened in that five minutes I spent with her in the kitchen." Lewis shifts, rearranging his crotch and stretching. "She's hot, no doubt. Quite the flirt. And now you're in here and she's out there, all alone. Or maybe not so alone. I think I'd better go check on her this evening."

Wilder growls. "You fucking bastard, you stay away from her, I'm warning you!"

Lewis smiles. "Too late. I've already slept with her. She rang me as soon as she found out you weren't coming home last night. She was good. Not as tight as I'd like, but I s'pose that's to be expected." Lewis seems dismissive.

Wilder leaps to his feet, knocking over his chair, and throws himself over the table, grabbing Lewis around the throat. "You _FUCK!_ You absolute _fuck!_ That's my wife you're talking about. I'll kill you, you sonofabitch, if you think you can fuck my wife."

Hathaway and the PC guarding the door pull Wilder off of Lewis with relative calm, and sit him back in his chair.

Lewis rubs his neck.

"I'm taking the mickey here, Wilder. I've never had sex your wife. I've never so much as touched your wife, though she put a hand or two on me alright." He sorts himself out, smoothing out his shirt and jacket. "You'd kill anyone who thought he could help himself to your wife, wouldn't you?"

Silence.

"Including your partner, Mark Flannery."

Wilder's chest is heaving. His eyes are closed. "You won't get anything out of me."

"Oh, yeah? I think I already have."

There comes a knock on the door of the interview room. It's Hooper.

"Sir? Forensics have come through. Do you want the results here?"

"Yeah, I do, Hooper. Thanks." Lewis takes the report and stands in the corner of the room as he scans the results from forensics.

Hooper winks at Hathaway. "Didn't I tell you? Watch out for the partner." He arches his eyebrows in Lewis's direction, and practically skips out of the room.

"Well, this is interesting." Lewis waves the report at his sergeant.

Wilder huffs, purposely ignoring whatever Lewis might find.

"Sir?"

"His fingerprints and Flannery's blood. Together." Lewis glances up from the report, meeting Wilder's startled look. "Oh, did I forget to mention that we found Flannery's police baton buried in your garden? Pretty damning evidence, that."

Wilder slumps in his chair, all the fight gone out of him. "I didn't think you'd ever find it." He sighs. "Well, if you have that, you hardly need my confession too, do you?"

"You bloody fool, why didn't you just chuck it in the river?"

"I hated him so much. I was blind with anger. I didn't realize I still had it in my hand until I got home." He sighs again. "Alright, let me make my statement."


	12. Epilogue

The White Horse is crowded that Friday. Hobson helps Lewis get in the four pints, and they make their way back to the table where the others wait. Lewis sets down one pint in front of Hathaway on his left and one in front of Hooper on his right, and Hobson hands one of hers across the table to Lewis. Everyone being served, Hathaway raises his glass and the others follow his gesture.

"Here's to putting the bad guys in the nick!" They all lift their pints and take a drink. Lewis doesn't set his down, but nods at Hooper. "And to keeping the good guys out." Hooper beams at the attention.

Laura turns to him. "Yes, Hooper, thank you for what you did to help Robbie."

He smiles even wider. "You can call me Charlie."

As the evening progresses, the group gets more animated. Lewis and Hathaway relate anecdotes from their part in the case, and Hooper chimes in with events from the DC's point of view. Spirits are high and there is a great deal of laughing.

At one point, it occurs to Lewis that Hooper has his arm around Laura's shoulders and is speaking rather quietly into her ear. He also notices Hathaway peeking at him over the top of his pint. A slight frown creases his brow.

"C'mon, Hooper, no secrets over there!"

Hooper looks up, a bit guilty.

"Just tellin' the doc 'ow much 'er work means to me."

Laura watches Lewis, a rather smug look on her face. "I do my best for all the coppers."

"An' 'ere I thought you did more for some than for others."

"Nope. I treat them all the same."

"Ooh, goody." He squeezes her closer to him, and Lewis reflexively scowls at how close Hooper's hand is to Laura's breast.

She grins and spontaneously kisses Hooper on the cheek.

"Oh, that's nice! Thank you, Doc."

Hathaway smirks at Lewis's silent fuming at the display, and wonders how much more he'll tolerate. But at that moment, another body wiggles its way between the Inspector and his Sergeant. Jenny Wilder.

"Hey, Inspector, Sergeant, I thought I might find you boys here." She leans over and kisses Lewis's cheek. From his vantage point, Lewis can easily see she is not wearing a bra.

"Jenny! Pull up a chair!" He looks around but it is clear there are none available anywhere near their table.

"I don't think I can find one." She giggles a little.

Lewis scoots his own chair out a ways and pats his lap. "This okay?"

Jenny sets her glass of wine down on the table and happily takes a seat, throwing an arm around his neck as she does. Laura scowls as Lewis's eyes take in the front-row view of Jenny's cleavage. Hooper gapes, his stare fixed on Jenny's most noticeable feature.

Hathaway takes a long pull of beer to hide his wicked smile. _Lewis wins that round._

Lewis gestures across the table. "Jenny, this is Doctor Laura Hobson, our finest pathologist, and Detective Constable Charlie Hooper. This is Jenny Wilder, wife of former PC Tony Wilder."

Laura's eyes narrow. "So the murderer these boys just locked up is your _husband_." The emphasized word drips with implication.

"Not for much longer, I'm happy to say. I filed for divorce today. Soon I'll be a free woman!" She beams.

Hooper sidles closer to Lewis's chair. "So you were 'aving it away with PC Flannery as well as yer 'usband? Cor, you're a 'ungry little thing, aren't you?"

She grins as Hooper puts a hand on her knee. "Yeh might say that."

Hathaway studies his glass. "Proof that one woman can satisfy two coppers at the same time."

Lewis nearly chokes on the beer he's swallowing. "Y'know, it's getting late, I think I'll say goodnight. Laura, I believe I've promised you a ride home. You ready?"

He hasn't promised any such thing but she takes her cue, and stands up. "Very."

Lewis prods Jenny from his lap and she takes over his chair when he stands. Hathaway takes one look at the unconcealed lust in Hooper's eyes and rises, too.

"I think I'll be off, too, if you two don't mind."

"G'night, Sarge. I think we'll manage without you."

Hathaway lights a cigarette as the three walk together to where their cars are parked. Laura has her arm threaded through Lewis's. Hathaway draws deeply and exhales.

"That was very entertaining."

"Yeah? Well, you're on your own for the rest of the evening."

"What are you two up to? Oh, don't tell me—a nice, romantic game of chess."

Lewis shrugs. "I'm not so sure. Suddenly I'm feeling about as romantic as a shoehorn." He smiles suggestively at Laura and steers her toward his car and away from Hathaway's puzzled expression.

"_Robbie!_"


End file.
